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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28582875">Give me your Heart: You Have Mine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoggedFantasy/pseuds/FoggedFantasy'>FoggedFantasy</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoggedFantasy/pseuds/Onlytrashliveshere'>Onlytrashliveshere (FoggedFantasy)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Whims of Rogue Hearts (Hetalia Collab) [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>And GerIta is mentioned, GerIta only shows up for like 2 seconds, Himbo Spain, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:27:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>46,468</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28582875</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoggedFantasy/pseuds/FoggedFantasy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoggedFantasy/pseuds/Onlytrashliveshere</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Spain and Romano have been pining over each other in secret for a while, but when bold-hearted Portugal takes initiative in spending time with Romano, Spain knows something has to change between him and his favorite Italian.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Germany/North Italy (Hetalia), Portugal/South Italy (Hetalia), South Italy/Spain (Hetalia)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Whims of Rogue Hearts (Hetalia Collab) [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2217435</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. If There's Anyone, It's You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Spain took a sip of the espresso that had been sitting in front of him long enough to turn cold. </p><p>He was seated across from Veneziano, soaking in the warm beams of Italian summer flooding in from the window. The northern half of Italy had been nice and made him a coffee, even offering him some biscottis to eat with it, though Spain was too preoccupied with the matter at hand to fully appreciate the gesture.<br/>
He just didn't want to screw up. It took him so long to get as close as he was with Romano, yet it could all be thrown away with one wrong move.<br/>
He sighed.</p><p>"Sorry to be bugging you like this, Italy." Spain fidgeted with his cup, looking deep into the reflective void of caffeine.<br/>
"I didn't know who else to turn to, though. I'd ask France, but I doubt his usual advice would work on someone like Romano." He let out a little chuckle, albeit a sheepish one.<br/>
Veneziano, ever the more patient one between the two halves, merely gave him his signature closed-eyed smile. "Ve~, you don't have to apologize to me, big brother Spain."<br/>
“Thanks,” Spain said softly, running his thumb over the smooth coffee cup’s exterior. “I just- it’s- it feels like higher stakes. I don’t want to just sit back and wait, though. And I don’t want to hide it for much longer. I just don’t know how to approach it. I know nothing’s a guarantee, but I would be devastated if I lost him.”<br/>
Veneziano looked over, gently patting his arm. “I understand. I’m glad someone cares about my brother like this, though.” He smiled softly, looking away as he thought. “I don’t think he has it in him to leave you entirely, Spain.”<br/>
Spain blinked, smiling. “Well, that’s good news to hear.” At least Veneziano thought that he had some sort of chance of at least maintaining a relationship of some kind after he told Romano. He would take it.</p><p> "And I think the chances of him rejecting you might be lower than you think." Veneziano gave his arm a squeeze, "My brother only likes a few people, and he trusts even fewer. I can't say you have his complete trust- that's just how fratello is, but I think you have a shot as long as you can show him that you're a reliable partner."<br/>
Spain nodded along. A reliable partner...<br/>
"If there's anyone he'll let in, it's you." Veneziano beamed.</p><p>Spain thought about his words, letting them sink in as he sipped away his drink. He knew Romano better than anyone else. His words had weight to them. Then again, he couldn't be completely sure if he actually meant it or if he was just saying these things to relieve Spain of his worries.<br/>
Either way, he felt it was important he confided in Veneziano. Courting someone was already a difficult task, now made more difficult by the someone in question being prickly Romano.<br/>
Not that Spain hated the prickles or Romano for having said prickles. It just made romantic pursuits more difficult. Challenging.<br/>
Spain rather liked the challenge, just not all the risks that came with it.</p><p>    Spain finished his coffee, bidding Veneziano adieu when he did. He began to walk home, but halfway through his walk, the skies opened up, pouring rain down on him. He sighed. Well, on the bright side he’d have an excuse to take a nice, warm shower when he got home. It hardly ever seemed to rain in Italy, though, at least when he came over it didn’t. How strange. Maybe it was an omen.<br/>
As he walked home, he thought about Romano and the challenges he would have to conquer to get a chance with him. He was certain they would be worth it, but challenges were always daunting at first, especially when it was just the beginning and Spain hadn’t had the balls to face the first one. He felt once he had a few under his belt he’d get better, but maybe he was being overconfident.<br/>
He sighed as he got home, going to take his warm shower as he had promised himself, before hanging up his clothes to dry and getting dressed in some pajamas. He wouldn’t go out again today anyway. His mind lapsed for a moment, and he thought of nothing before it quickly came back to Romano. His mind had been focused on the man for a while now, he felt like he thought about the Italian all the time. He had it bad. He would really have to hurry up and make a move.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Entende, bello?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Portugal may be OOC as we have not read the manga. He's a flirt in this.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Little did he know, his brother Portugal had taken it upon himself to take advantage of Spain's floundering, and at that moment Portugal and Romano were in a bar together, getting drunk out of their minds.<br/>“I didn’t realize you could be so fun, Romano,” Portugal complimented, a grin on his face as his eyes wandered his body predatorily.<br/>Romano laughed. “Italians know how to have a party, bastardo, don’t forget it!”<br/>“I won’t! I might have to come more often,” Portugal smirked, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. “This is fun, don’t you think?”<br/>“Yeah, it’s fine,” Romano giggled, giddy from the alcohol flooding through his veins.<br/>“You know, we should play a game,” Portugal suggested innocently.<br/>“What game?” Romano asked, furrowing his brow slightly. What game could he be thinking of?<br/>“Beer pong,” Portugal grinned. "You know how to play?"</p><p>"Absolutely."<br/>Not. Well, kinda, but only vaguely. Romano remembered watching America play, but he neither paid it any attention nor cared to do so at the time.<br/>Like hell, if he backed down to this bastardo. Especially after he doubted his ability to party!</p><p>"I'll play your game. Just don't cry to mama when I kick your ass."<br/>"Only if you send my regards when I kick yours." Portugal had a smile like a tiger. This was going well so far. "Shall we add some stakes to this game?"<br/>Romano's inebriated brain took a second to catch up, having to process the offense taken by Portugal's comeback first. ".. Steaks?"<br/>"Stakes."<br/>"... Steaks."<br/>The drunken Italian looked down at his stomach, "Yeah I could go for a bite."</p><p>Portugal laughed.<br/>Oh yeah, Romano was out of it. How cute.<br/>"If it's steak you want, the loser takes the winner out to dinner." He suggested as he leaned into Romano's personal space, meeting his gaze. "Sound like a good deal, Italiano?"<br/>“So long as there’s food involved, it sounds like a good deal. You’re going down, though,” He said.<br/>Portugal chuckled. Even if he did, he was winning. He was winning since he got Romano to himself for a little while. “Then let’s play.”<br/>Portugal did end up explaining the rules to Romano once he figured out the Italian didn’t know how to play, but he did it under the guise that there were different versions so he wanted them both to understand the rules they were playing. Luckily, Romano bought it. It helped there were more than a few shots flowing through him.</p><p>Thus, the game began with all the enthusiasm of a colosseum battle and none of the fanfare, nor the dignity. Portugal did not inebriate easily, putting him at an advantage against the clearly drunk Romano in front of him. Which made it all the more fun. Even so, Portugal decided to throw the game, wanting to treat Romano and get him drunker.<br/>When they finished, Portugal wrapped an arm around Romano, chuckling. “Looks like you won, where are we going?” He asked, patting his head.<br/>“La vite di Pomodoro,” Romano slurred, glaring as his head was pat. “Hey, be careful, bastardo.” He said. He didn’t want him to tug on his curl.<br/>‘Mm, right, okay, Romano, let’s go.” Portugal chuckled, offering his arm to him like a gentleman.<br/>Romano looked at the offer. “I can still walk.”<br/>“Oh, but it might be safer, don’t want- well… I don’t want to get lost,” Portugal smiled at him, proffering the arm again.<br/>Romano sighed. “Idiota, since you might get lost, though…” He said, taking his arm and hugging it.<br/>Portugal smirked. It was all going to plan. He let Romano drunkenly lead them to the restaurant.</p><p>As they entered, Portugal was given a brief peek into another side of Romano, he saw him greet the maitre'd in a familiar manner. He knew no Italian but it didn't take any to recognize the two seemed to be old friends.<br/>Just like that, he found them being led to a table a cozy distance away from most of the other patrons. Seems Romano liked to make connections... Portugal noted, in case it could be used for later.<br/>"S'the De Luca's. Nonna makes the best damn cannoli in all of north and south Italy!" Romano proudly declared as he seated himself.<br/>"Yeah? Tell me more." Portugal smiled, propping his head upon the table as he got comfy sitting across from Romano. Looking comfortable tended to get one's company comfortable too.<br/>"Live a few houses past mine. Big family... Lotsa kids." Romano's expression wrinkled up for a moment at the very mention of children but seemed to gradually soften. "Nice kids, though. Good kids. Like to.. to, um, contribuire a rendere vivace la casa.." He made some vague hand gesture Portugal could only nod in response to.<br/>"Sweet kids?" Portugal smiled, watching the way Romano became so gentle talking about this silly little human family.<br/>"The sweetest. Little bastardos. Gonna rot my teeth.."<br/>Portugal chuckled. “That’s sweet. How long have you known them?”<br/>“Since the familia opened the restaurant, so only a generation or so ago.” He shrugged.<br/>“Well, that’s nice even so. Are you staying around for all their history now?” He chuckled.<br/>“Well, I definitely will be if one of these kids gets the cannoli talent.” He giggled in response.<br/>Portugal laughed at that. “You’re only in it for the cannolis?”<br/>Romano softened. “Well, they’re a good family, so maybe for a bit more than the cannolis.” He smiled.<br/>Portugal smiled. “That’s sweet.”<br/>“You should look at the menu,” Romano said. He already knew what he wanted.<br/>“Oh, right,” Portugal did so, and it almost made him regret throwing the match. Romano had expensive taste. Either way, he composed himself and found something he’d like- though all of it sounded amazing.<br/>Their waiter came by, taking the orders and getting them drinks. Portugal was disappointed that Romano had just a water, but he supposed it would probably be safer. He wasn’t trying to kill the man with alcohol poisoning, after all. Still, one more drink or two wouldn't be too bad.. Maybe he'd be able to convince him to have something boozy with a dessert.</p><p>Romano would continue to chatter on about the De Luca family, and it would evolve into chatter about the other families on his street which Portugal would only passively listen to. He wasn't terribly interested, but the way his company would light up every time he responded with a vaguely related comment or a question for him to answer made it worth it.<br/>Relief finally came in the form of food. The waiter served it with a polite smile that easily turned into a flustered one with a wink from Portugal.<br/>"Hey! Don't flirt with the staff, pervertito!" Romano huffed, turning and saying something to the waiter that sounded like an apology. The waiter seemed to say something that sounded like a dismissal. Portugal only smiled innocently at the exchange. He would forget about it anyway, but Portugal always loved to get in flirting practice.<br/>The waiter left and left them to quite the meal. It was delicious, as Portugal expected, although with the price it had better be. Even so, he enjoyed it, beginning to steer the conversation to the future.<br/>“So, what are your plans for next weekend?”<br/>“Depends on if I work,” Romano said, before pausing. “Why?” He asked, furrowing his brow.<br/>“Well I’m just having so much fun with you, I thought maybe if you were free we could spend some time.”<br/>“Mm... “ Romano grunted, thinking, although it was hard to get anywhere with the alcohol he’d consumed previously. Although despite his trouble thinking, he couldn’t help but get one thought shining through clearly. Surely Portugal would prefer Veneziano’s company if it were available. Him liking Romano’s was some kind of fluke.</p><p>Portugal saw his expression shift, and gently cupped his chin with one hand, having him look at him. “Do you enjoy my company too?” He tilted his head, smiling.<br/>Romano blushed at being manhandled, even though it was as gentle as ever. He wasn’t used to someone well… touching him- aside from his fratello’s constant hugs. His eyes darted around, desperate not to look at Portugal’s piercing pupils. “It’s fine, idiota- just let me go.” He tried to brush off the hand.<br/>Portugal chuckled. It was calculated, just the right amount of warmth and smoothness to fluster Romano just a little more. "Okay, okay, as you wish." He winked.<br/>"As I wish? What are you, a genie?" Romano let out a huff, opting to retreat to his buttface routine after that interaction. Having Portugal look at him like that, touch him like that, say that crap to him…<br/>"I could be. Depends on what wish you might have in mind. Like, perhaps a wish to go somewhere? Do something?" Portugal grinned, "I could grant that."<br/>"I doubt it," Romano grumbled "I bet you suck with money just like that jerk bastard Spain.."<br/>"What makes you think I'm anything like my brother, Romano?"<br/>"You practically look the same. Speak basically the same too." He shrugged<br/>"Same could be said for you and Veneziano but the two of you are like night and day."<br/>Romano sighed and gave another shrug. He had a point. Romano couldn't think of one to give when he was still buzzed. "I suppose. Nothing to look forward to about the night.."</p><p>Portugal leaned back in his seat, a warm smile easily taking over his face. His eyes were closed, his position relaxed. Time to go in for the kill.<br/>"Sounds like you think you're the night. Quite the opposite, actually. You're the day."<br/>Romano raised an eyebrow at that. He was about to open his mouth, but Portugal so suavely bringing a finger up to his lips interrupted him.<br/>"Let me explain. The day is full of hustle and bustle, always busy with people doing what they have to in order to live their lives, no?" Portugal lightly tapped his nose "It's lively, it's when the spirit of the country really shines through. Loud and proud. Bursting with personality."<br/>Romano looked away, feeling warmth creep up his neck and across his cheeks. Porca miseria, there was no way he meant any of that…<br/>"The night may be beautiful in its peaceful nature, but nothing gets done. The real heart of a nation can't be witnessed in the night." Portugal slowly opened his eyes, leaning forward with calculated slowness as he looked Romano in the eyes.<br/>"Você entende, belo dia?"</p><p>Romano stood up quickly from his seat, feeling a small bit of internal panic as Portugal made his move.<br/>"I'm going home."<br/>“Oh, are you sure? The fun was just beginning, and I still have to buy you dessert.” Portugal tried, not above bribing.<br/>“I need to go,” Romano repeated, grabbing his jacket, though everything grew blurry for him with his quickness in getting up and moving, so he stumbled, grabbing the chair.<br/>“Hey, at least let me walk you,” Portugal said seriously, getting up.<br/>“I’ll be fine,” Romano insisted, not wanting to spend more time feeling like this. Not that he knew what exactly he was feeling.<br/>“No, I’m serious, here, I’ll be quiet the whole time if you want,” Portugal said, approaching his side, but Romano backed up.<br/>“And I said I’d be fine, bastardo!” Romano glared.<br/>A waitress came over, beginning to talk to Romano in Italian.<br/>“Someone else will take me home,” He said to Portugal once the conversation ended. And with that, the night and all of Portugal’s fun ended too. That was fine.</p><p>This was only the practice round.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Even if it Takes me Lifetimes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The door flung open and slammed shut in one smooth, reckless motion. Romano found himself panting as he hung up his coat and slid out of his shoes. Why did he leave in such a rush? Why did he feel the need to, anyway? The night started out so well and now here he was having a fit for no goddamn reason.<br/>            Minchia!<br/>     He groaned and stomped over to the couch, letting himself fall back onto the comforting softness with a sigh. Whatever, he got kinda fucked up, no? He'd forget about it in the morning, and so hopefully Portugal would too. The fabric rustled beneath him as his weight shifted around, stopping only when Romano finally found himself comfortable.<br/>         "Fratello! Are you home now?" Veneziano's voice came from upstairs.<br/>         "Did you not hear the door open, idiota? If I was a burglar, we'd be ransacked already!" Romano shouted back, "And if I was a murderer, you would be dead!"<br/>         "You don't have to say scary stuff like that!" Veneziano whined, his voice growing louder as he descended the stairs.<br/>         "Yeah well, obviously I'm home now, okay?" Romano sighed.<br/>    “Okay, okay, fratello I’m sorry!” Veneziano frowned, finding his brother laying on the couch intoxicated. “What happened to you?”<br/>    “I had a good time.” Until he didn’t, but Veneziano didn’t need to know that.<br/>    “With who? Spain?” Veneziano guessed, his tone hopeful. His very helpful pep talk earlier must have inspired him to take immediate action!</p><p>    “Portugal,” Romano closed his eyes, relaxing as best as he could.</p><p>       Or not.</p><p>“Portugal? I didn’t know you two were friends.” Veneziano frowned, a little disappointed things did not progress as quickly as he had hoped they would.<br/>    “We aren’t," Romano wrinkled up his nose at the very thought, "But we’re on fine terms. He came over and wanted to hang out. Didn't see any reason to tell him to piss off.” <br/>    “What did you two do?”<br/>    “Got drunk, played beer pong with a bet, and ate some dinner. Then I came home,” Romano answered honestly.<br/>    “You played beer pong after getting drunk?” Veneziano asked. Was Portugal trying to get him sloshed?<br/>    “We had a bet going.” Romano shrugged.<br/>    Veneziano didn’t like it, but he bit his tongue. Okay. None of this was what he wanted at all, but things usually went his way in the end, so all he'd have to do is wait! <br/>            "... What do you want from me now? I'm tired, you bastard."<br/>            "Eh? You don't plan on sleeping on the couch, do you?"<br/>    “Mm, I’ll go to bed,” Romano said, ducking his head. He got up and gripped onto the couch for a moment as his world spun. He then went upstairs, going to go to bed.<br/>    Veneziano watched him leave, sighing. His fratello was pathetic sometimes. He just needed to pull himself together!<br/>    Romano brought himself to the bedroom, changing into his pajamas. He then climbed into bed, cuddling into the covers before passing out and dreaming about the night. What would have happened if he had stayed with Portugal? Would he want that? Should he have stayed?<br/>    He slept until morning, thinking much too hard about it. When he awoke, he awoke to two texts, one from Spain, and one from Portugal. They were both asking the same thing- when he was free next. He didn’t know how to reply, so he ignored it, for now, going to make some breakfast.<br/>    Veneziano awoke to breakfast made by his brother, who was still in pajamas. <br/>           "Buongiorno," He greeted as he looked at the tasty platter before him, "Grazie, fratello!" He smiled up at Romano.<br/>           "Mm, 'giorno." Romano was preoccupied staring at his phone. This lack of response did not sit well with the northern half.<br/>           "Fratello?"<br/>           "Eat before it gets cold."</p><p>Romano sighed in silence as he looked through the messages again, as though repeating the action would produce a different outcome. Maybe if he just didn't respond at all they'd take a hint and leave him be. That begged the question, though, did he really want to be left alone? The other night with Portugal was... interesting, for lack of better words. He also wouldn't be opposed to spending more time with Spain. With all that said...<br/>    He ran a hand through his hair. He didn't know how well he could handle spending time with either of them right now. He went out with Portugal in order to take his mind off of a certain stupid jerk bastard, but now it's given him a whole new stupid jerk bastard to worry about. The world would never let Romano have it easy for once.<br/>     "Fratello!"<br/>That made Romano jump a little. Oh. Right. The outside world didn't pause for his internal conflict.<br/>     "What, what? Why are you so loud already?" He huffed.<br/>     "I was asking if you ate already!" Veneziano frowned, gently tugging Romano down to sit with him. <br/>     "I did, you idiot, don't worry about me!"<br/>    "Don't yell at me!" Veneziano whined.<br/>    "You yelled at me first, stupid!"</p><p>The brothers bickered, but for only a brief moment.<br/>Veneziano easily became distracted by his breakfast, and Romano by his work. Their trains of thoughts went their separate way, and so did the brothers as they went about their own days.<br/>      "Ciao~!"<br/>      "Ciao."<br/>They bid each other before separating.</p><p>    Romano thought it would be a normal day, and for the most part, it was. That was until lunch came by and Spain dropped by.<br/>    “Romano!” He greeted as he walked in the room.<br/>    Romano got up with a nod to his boss, dragging Spain out by the arm. “What do you want, idiota? You can’t just come into my work!”<br/>    “Lo siento, Romano,” Spain ducked his head like a kicked puppy.<br/>    Romano sighed. “Just don’t do it. What do you want?”<br/>    “I thought maybe I could take you out for lunch? You didn’t respond to my text.” Spain gave him puppy-dog eyes.<br/>    Romano blushed. Shit. “I’m kinda in the middle of work…”<br/>    “When’s your lunch break?”<br/>    “Well… it has passed but I haven’t taken it yet, we’re kinda swamped.”<br/>    “You need a lunch break, Romano,” Spain frowned. “Let me take you out somewhere.”<br/>    Romano sighed. “I suppose I could take a short break. But let’s just go somewhere quick.”<br/>    “Like a food truck?” Spain asked excitedly. He saw one on the way and he had never tried a food truck in Italy.<br/>    “Okay,” Romano obliged. “Let me just go tell my boss.”<br/>    “Right, I’ll wait here.” Spain grinned, and Romano could practically see his non-existent tail wagging.<br/>    He nodded, going back in to tell his boss, who told him to be back soon. Then he went to meet up with Spain.</p><p>Spain was eagerly waiting for him, and he beamed when he saw Romano step out. The sight of him made Romano look away with pink cheeks. His unadulterated delight was embarrassing to be around- how was he so goddamn happy?<br/>          "Hey, bastardo," Romano grumbled.<br/>          "Yes, Romano?"<br/>          "What are you so happy for?"<br/>Spain thought about it for a moment. It was a process you could observe on his face. The gears turned and turned, slowing down as his mind reached an answer.<br/>          "I guess I'm happy because I get to spend time with you." Spain grinned. It was bright enough that Romano swore he could be blinded by it. Tch, idiota. <br/>           "... Whatever."</p><p>Romano ordered for the two of them as the staff seemed to only understand Italian. That wasn't the best thing for business. Even if Romano personally felt there was no point in going abroad if you couldn't speak the language there, many tourists didn't feel the same way, meaning they'd have to be accommodating if they wanted to keep their steady influx of tourism. He'd have to stop by again later to tell the owner- tourists loved their damn food trucks...<br/>             "Romano, how can you think of work on your lunch break?" Spain pouted next to him, gently poking him on the cheek.<br/>             "What makes you so confident you know what I'm thinking about, eh?"<br/>             "Your face looked so serious. Stop thinking about work and eat with me!" Spain poked his cheek again.<br/>Romano slapped his hand away with a groan. "If it will get you to shut up, okay."</p><p>It did, in fact, get Spain to shut up.<br/>He was more than happy to stop talking as he and Romano ate seated side-by-side on a bench, enjoying some lasagna which had been shaped into a cupcake. Spain thought it was convenient and had a charm to it, but Romano was ever the traditionalist when it came to anything involving Italian cuisine. That meant Spain would be kept amused by Romano criticizing the foodstuff, quite passionately, he had to add. Romano was so cute.<br/>        While watching him deconstruct the apparent 'unholy wrongdoing to lasagna', Spain got thinking. Some argued it was not something he did often- which was more often than not correct -but he has been doing a lot more recently. His thoughts mainly revolved around Romano. Like how could he get somewhere with him without scaring him off? Maybe he should ask him now? He had the opportunity to right now...<br/>     Ahh, but he didn't want to make Romano have to worry about both his advance and his work at the same time!<br/>As Spain fretted within his mindspace on what to do, Romano cleared his throat.<br/>           "Hey, Spain," He began, watching as it snapped the other out of his thoughts.<br/>           "Ah- si, Romano?"<br/>           "... Sorry for not responding to your text. I got a bit overwhelmed with other things.” He said.<br/>    “Ah, no worries, I just want to spend time.” Spain grinned, pleased. <br/>           "I figured. That's, uh, why I couldn’t respond. I've been pretty busy so I can't promise anything."<br/>Spain hummed, finishing off his food. Oh, Romano... He definitely needed a little break. Spain really hoped he could be the one who'd convince him to do so. "Like I said, no worries." He reached over, giving Romano's hair a little ruffle.</p><p>Romano blinked. It'd been a while since he'd been handled, like that. It was kinda nice. Not that he'd ever let Spain know, he was sure it'd go to his head. To keep up the act, he pushed his hand away after a few seconds with a huff, that may or may not have been exaggerated. It didn't seem to deter Spain one bit, but he removed his hand from Romano's personal space, and that's what mattered. <br/>        "Why'd you pat my head? I'm not a little kid," He muttered, lips pursed in what was definitely not a pout. <br/>         "I know, but I just couldn't help myself." Spain beamed at him in return.<br/>         "Then learn how to, estupido!" Romano looked away, face much like a little tomato.<br/>Spain merely laughed. That was Southern Italy for you. He was a fiery spirit and Spain didn't want him any other way. <br/>Except maybe as his date.</p><p>"Romano?"<br/>      "What now?"<br/>"Will you try to let me know whenever you're free?" Spain met his gaze with a hopeful twinkle in his eyes, "I really want to spend more time with you."<br/>       "You- you really want that?" Romano blushed.<br/>"Si! I want it very much!" Spain nodded, determination written across his face.<br/>      Romano ran a hand through his hair, "... I'll try." He glanced away with a pout, ignoring the way his heart started to pick up the pace of its beats.<br/>Spain stood up quickly from his seat, the sun paling in comparison to the gleam in his eyes. Romano's heart nearly lept out of his throat at the sight. <br/>     "Then I'll wait for you even if it takes me lifetimes, Romano!" Spain's excitement echoed through the street, turning heads left and right. <br/>Romano quickly brought a hand up to cover his face.<br/>     Minchia, he was embarrassing.</p><p>Romano wouldn't be able to stop thinking about him for the rest of the day.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. You're a Glutton</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Spain returned home that day, he walked with a bounce in his step. Well, more of a bounce than usual. He was already a peppy guy, so the flutter in his movement was noticeably twofold. He had been like this all day, even at work. It unnerved his boss. The time he got with Romano was unsurprisingly the reason for his boosted energy- though Spain was more than willing to argue who wouldn't feel invigorated after time with Romano? <br/>     Even if he could be a buttface sometimes.<br/>He entered his house with an idiotic grin plastered to his face. Too preoccupied with his own Romano induced high, Spain completely disregarded Portugal. He did not at all recall him being at his house, but he was so lost in his own giddiness that his mind had filtered that out. He walked entirely past him, making his way to the kitchen with the intention of treating himself to a pre-dinner snack. <br/>Just as Portugal thought he could get away with sneaking in and stealing some merenda from his brother, Spain finally acknowledged the other man's presence. Needless to say, he was not very pleased.<br/>Portugal put up his hands in surrender, though he had no intention of confessing nor making up for his crime.<br/>         "Aw come on, you're not gonna blow up at your little brother, are you?"<br/>"You just invited yourself in, huh?"<br/>         Portugal grinned "I'm family. I can do that, can't I?"<br/>That got a defeated frown out of Spain. "Fine then. You staying for dinner?" He asked as he slipped on an apron, rolling up his sleeves.<br/>         "Are you going to make me help make it?" <br/>         "It'll be family bonding time. Besides, you ate my ensaïmada! I was saving that!"<br/>         "Should've eaten it sooner if you didn't want it stolen." Portugal smirked as he got up from his lounging.<br/>       “Should’ve taken back my key from you is what I should’ve done,” Spain said reproachfully.<br/>    “I suppose I’ll stay for dinner,” Portugal said, going to wash his hands. “I don’t have anything better to do.”<br/>    “Thanks, I feel so loved.” Spain rolled his eyes.<br/>    Portugal chuckled, shrugging. “Sorry, Spain, but I mean, c’mon. If I had a date you know you couldn’t compete.”<br/>    “I’m surprised you don’t. You always have a date. What happened?”<br/>    “Oh, just pursuing someone new,” Portugal said innocently. He wasn’t suicidal, so he didn’t bring up that it was Romano, Spain’s forever-crush. Even if his brother did need a kick in the ass to make anything happen.<br/>    “And?” Usually, that meant he’d be drowning in dates.<br/>    “He’s a tough nut to crack.” He shrugged.<br/>            "Ah, okay. I get that." Spain nodded. "I've got a tough nut to crack myself." He grinned into the fridge as he opened it up, as though the appliance was a magic mirror he could use to see Romano.<br/>Portugal politely held back his desire to laugh as he watched his already foolish irmão make a bigger fool of himself by being so obvious. "Really? I can't imagine I could possibly know them." He lied with a smile as Spain took out some ingredients. He was none the wiser, lost in the Southern Italy-shaped clouds of his mind. Portugal mused about how easy his brother could be sometimes. It felt like taking candy from a baby, honestly.<br/>    “Ah, really? I’m sure you do.” Spain said absentmindedly but didn’t elaborate so Portugal just shrugged it off innocently.<br/>    They made their meal and began to eat before their phones buzzed. Portugal checked it first. It was a group chat between him, Spain, and Romano.<br/>    ‘I don’t have a lot of free time, if you both really want to hang out I could give you a time that would work, and maybe we could go together.’ The text read.<br/>    Portugal paled. Oh, now he was hinging on his brother being too much of a dumbass to process his intent, and Spain had seen a lot of Portugal’s flirting. So, it wasn’t looking good. He shuddered to think of how Spain reacted when France had tried to get in between him and Romano.<br/>           "... Eh?" Spain tilted his head slowly as he examined the message. He furrowed his brow and began to type. With every little tic, Portugal only grew more nervous. <br/>     Buzz buzz.<br/>'Did you mean to add Portugal, Romano?'</p><p>The aforementioned Portugal sat antsy in his seat, knowing it was too late to run now unless he wanted to look suspicious. Spain was rather touchy when it came to the subject of Romano, especially getting close to Romano. If he put two and two now, it'd make Portugal's pursuit a lot more difficult.<br/>    ‘Yeah, you both wanted to spend time.’ Romano sent.<br/>    “You wanted to spend time with Romano?” Spain asked Portugal.<br/>            "He's a good conversational partner." Portugal lied through his teeth. If Spain put it all together that would definitely not be good for him. Fingers crossed, prayers made- c'mon God, Portugal didn't sin that much. He prodded at his food with his fork, eyes firmly focused on this activity. Poke. Prod. It was very pokable food.</p><p>    "Portugal, mi hermano."<br/>Spain leaned forward, propping his head upon the table. There was a smile on his face that didn't reach his closed eyes.<br/>     "This wouldn't at all be related to that someone who you said was a tough nut, right?" His eyes remained closed, yet somehow Portugal couldn't help but feel he was being glared at. So, he chuckled, unwilling to crack. Spain's non-gaze remained on him.<br/>           "Why are you so concerned? It's not like he's yours." Portugal forced himself into a relaxed position, determined not to break under his irmão's pressure. <br/>     "You know I've had feelings for him for a while now."<br/>            "And?"<br/>     "And so I'm wondering why you're going after him of all people."<br/>Portugal smirked, leaning his head back to stare up at the ceiling. "You're treating him like your merenda."<br/>This made Spain break his posture. He opened up to leer at his brother. "What are you trying to say?" Spain asked, quickly finding himself leaning back in his seat as Portugal seemed to launch himself forward, getting uncomfortably up in his face. Portugal was getting cocky now that he felt he was back in a position to get the verbal upper hand.<br/>              "If you didn't want anyone else to have it, why didn't you take it for yourself sooner?"</p><p>Now he had him cornered.</p><p>That's what he thought before Spain grabbed him by the collar of the shirt and fearlessly asserted himself in Portugal's face.</p><p>"Romano isn't some sort of snack I can help myself to and replace after I'm done," Spain spoke very, very calmly. "If I lose Romano, I can't run to the nearest panaderia and order another one."<br/>       Portugal resisted the urge to laugh at the mental image paired with his brother's serious expression.<br/>"If someone took a bite-" The grip on his collar tightened and Portugal found his urge had dissipated.<br/>       "-Out of Romano, it wouldn't be just like stealing a bite of an esaïmada. Merienda can't feel." Spain's tone remained calm, but his grip was so tight his arm was shaking, "If someone ate him up, he wouldn't just disappear into your stomach to be forgotten about while you move on to your next meal."<br/>       "Your grip's starting to choke me." Portugal looked down at Spain's hand with precise apathy.<br/>       "You're a glutton."<br/>       "I won't back down because you're throwing a tantrum, Spain."<br/>       Spain let him go, the deep-seated rage in his eyes manifested in the shadows of his expression. <br/>"I refuse to let you hurt Romano."<br/>    “Why do you think I’ll hurt him?” Portugal asked.<br/>    “Because you get with someone and then throw them to the side!” Spain said in frustration. “I won’t let you do that to Romano. Back down.”<br/>    “He’s not yours. And he’s an adult. He doesn’t need you to protect him anymore.”<br/>    Spain glared. “Portugal. Don’t. I’m serious.”<br/>    “It should be his decision if he wants to spend time with me,” Portugal said innocently.<br/>    “He doesn’t know what you do!” Spain protested. “Leave him alone. If this was a lesson that I need to go after what I want, I’ve learned it.”<br/>    “Oh but I want you to remember it. Besides, Romano seems like a lot of fun, actually. Maybe I might find a reason to want to keep him with me.”<br/>    Spain gripped his silverware, quaking with rage. “Get out. I can’t be around you when you’re like this.”<br/>    Portugal got up to oblige. He wasn’t going to encourage his brother to forcibly remove him. “I’ll see you then, I guess, irmão.” He said, stepping out and closing the door behind him.</p><p>    Spain was seething.</p><p>The quiet click of the door that signaled Portugal's departure broke something in Spain. He stabbed his fork into his food, hard enough he ended up cracking the plate. <br/>        Portugal had just committed an act of war. <br/>He wasn't going to let Romano get hurt. Romano deserved better than that.<br/>  Romano deserved to be appreciated<br/>      He deserved to be cherished.<br/>           Romano deserved to be loved.</p><p>           And Spain needed to give him that.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Fue muy motivador!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Veneziano hadn't expected to meet up with Spain again so soon, but as he remembered his fratello coming home drunk and clearly in a mood, he was relieved that Spain wanted to take action. Good, he'd do his best to help Spain help his big brother from being all sad and lonely. God knew Romano needed it- but count on fratello to panic at the first bit of affection.<br/>He had poured him a caffé d'orzo, a plate of taralli served alongside it. Big brother Spain's nerves seemed jumpy already. Veneziano didn't want him to have anything caffeinated in case it made it worse.<br/>        "Gracias, Italy." Spain thanked him before taking a sip.<br/>        "Prego~," Veneziano responded as he sat down in front of him. "So... Why did you come to me and not go straight to fratello, Spain?"<br/>Spain tapped his finger against the mug as he thought it over. "I need to make the first date count." His voice was low energy, Veneziano had noticed, yet he was fidgeting endlessly in his seat. Spain wasn't at all like his usual happy self. He was looking really serious!<br/>         "I understand." He nodded. A good start would help him have a better chance, right? "Um, well... You know my brother pretty well I think."<br/>         "He's your brother." Spain glanced up from his drink, their gazes temporarily meeting until Veneziano looked away.<br/>         "Yeah, I'm his brother, not his suitor." Veneziano pouted, "I can't be sure what he looks for in a date." <br/>Spain swirled around his drink, clearly having deep thoughts the northern half couldn't even begin to comprehend. Veneziano watched him think in silence until Spain shuddered and met his gaze again.<br/>       "Do you think you could ask?" He had a look in his eyes Italy just couldn't place.<br/>       "Ah, well…"<br/>Fratello would definitely be mad about him poking around in his love life if he found out... but big brother Spain cared so much for his brother- he had to help! <br/>Spain has been so generous to him and his brother, and now it was finally about time to return the favor. <br/>     He couldn't imagine anyone else who'd prove themselves so be as dedicated as Spain, so Veneziano gave him an earnest smile- the sort only a man who didn't have much going on in his head could give- and proudly declared,</p><p> "I'll do my best to get the intel, leave it to me!</p><p>Which led Veneziano to where he was now. That was, trying to sneakily ask his brother about what he'd want a hypothetical love life while they were ordering lunch. Of course, they both ordered something gluttonous first.<br/>    “So, fratello,” Veneziano began. “Do you want to play a game?”<br/>    “What kind of game?” Romano asked.<br/>    “Fuck, marry, kill?”<br/>    “How do you play?”<br/>    “I give you three people, you can choose to hypothetically fuck one, marry another, but the last one would be killed.”<br/>    “Interesting. I don’t see why not.” He said. “But it’s a strange game. Sounds like something America would play.”<br/>    “Right, well… first three: America, Belgium, or France?”<br/>    “Kill France,” Romano said immediately. “Marry Belgium and fuck America.”<br/>That seemed important, Veneziano thought. In his mental notepad, he wrote down Don't be France. He had the bases covered!<br/>            "Okay, what about you, Veneziano?"<br/>            "Oh! Marry Belgium, sleep with France and kill America!"<br/>Romano scrunched up his nose at the differences in his response. He couldn't help but feel like this game would accidentally lead to him learning things about his brother he didn't want to know. "Why the hell would you not kill that snooty blond bastardo?"<br/>            Veneziano pouted, "Big brother France is nice.."<br/>           "Nice, my ass."<br/>           "I won't argue. Arguments make me lose my appetite." He said with the tonal equivalent of a dog's whine, "it's your turn, fratello."<br/>Romano hummed as he thought about who to pick. Not anyone with an actual relationship with Veneziano- that'd just make it uncomfortable... Who were the most ridiculously left-field people he could say? He poked at his abbacchio as he thought it over.<br/>            "Uh... Cuba, Norway, and India?"<br/>            "What? No fair, I don't even know them!" Veneziano huffed, twirling a forkful of spaghetti al nero and filling his mouth to stall. Oh, gee. He chewed deliberately slowly before swallowing with equally deliberate sluggishness. "Um... Kill Cuba? He looks big and scary... Sleep with Norway and marry India? India seems the nicest. Oh! And he'd also dance the best at our hypothetical wedding."<br/>             Romano nodded, a little amused at his response, "I'd have to say the same for me."<br/>Veneziano reached across the table for a napkin to wipe the dark sauce from his mouth. Romano scrubbed it off from his lips when he was only managing to smear it around and make a bigger mess. <br/>         "Idiota, you know the squid ink in this stains." He grumbled.<br/>     "Sorry, fratello... Could you, ow, not wipe my mouth so hard?"<br/>         "No, you made a mess!"<br/>       "Could you at least keep it to people we know then? In the game, I mean." Veneziano whined. "It's no fun if you don't know who you're talking about."<br/>          "... Fine."</p><p>Veneziano was physically relieved when Romano finally stopped exfoliating his lips away, wiping at them with a childish little frown. "Ow, that hurt."<br/>  Romano could only roll his eyes. "Don't be such a baby. And don't order al nero if you don't want to deal with the mess."<br/>          "Okay.." Veneziano gently rubbed at his mouth, ".. Ah... Prussia, Portugal, and Spain?"<br/>“Kill Prussia, fuck Portugal, marry Spain,” Romano said quickly. It wasn’t a hard decision for him. He felt closest to Spain, but Portugal looked very similar to him and was charming in his own regards. Prussia was annoying. “What about you?”<br/>Veneziano noted that entire response down so he could tell Spain later, before thinking about it. “Marry Portugal, fuck Spain, kill Prussia,” He said, not wanting to encroach on Romano’s turf with Spain, even though he knew Spain better and would be more likely to want to marry him over Portugal.<br/>“Mm, fair enough,” Romano said, patting his head once gently. “What about England, China, and Russia?”<br/>Veneziano made a face. None of them sounded like good options. “Kill Russia,” he said slowly, figuring he owed at least that much to the world if he could do it. “Marry China and fuck England.”<br/>“Same,” Romano shrugged.<br/>Veneziano nodded. Hm... He was making some sort of progress. He thought, but he wasn't sure it was enough. He had to get more. Think, Veneziano! Think! It was time he put his brain to good use! Um, um...<br/>             "Why?" He asked<br/>             "What?"<br/>              " Like I said, why?"<br/>Romano furrowed his brow as it processed through his mind. "Why do I have to explain?"<br/>              "I wanna know," Veneziano said innocently. "I think it'd be more fun this way too!"<br/>               "You have a weird idea of what's fun," Romano grumbled, "You first."<br/>              "Oh, easy. The world would be a lot less scary without Mr. Russia and I'd die if I had to be married to England! Imagine waking up every morning to British food!" Veneziano shuddered at the thought and Romano did the same.<br/>               "Yeah, I feel the same. And China kinda looks like a girl."<br/>               "Ve~, yeah! See how much better it is when you say why?"<br/>               "I guess? Whatever, idiota. Fine."</p><p>   That's a win for Veneziano!</p><p>He grinned internally as he continued to play their little game of hypotheticals. They cycled through their neighboring countries, their not so neighboring countries, going on and on until they'd nearly finished their meals.<br/>        "Okay, okay, just one more, fratello?" He begged, "Pleaaaase?"<br/>        "If it will get you to shut up!" Romano groaned, stabbing the last morsel of abbacchio and grumpily finishing off his meal.<br/>         "Spain, Portugal, and Belgium!"<br/>Romano slowed. God, he'd have to explain why too. Wait- "Didn't you already say them?"<br/>Veneziano shook his head, "Not in this arrangement, no."<br/>    “Mm… I see… kill Portugal, marry Spain, and fuck Belgium.” He said after a second of thought.<br/>    “Why?” Veneziano smiled, pleased that he chose to marry Spain even when a girl was an option.<br/>    “I don’t know Portugal well, Belgium’s sweet and really pretty, and I know Spain really well,” He said softly.<br/>    Veneziano smiled. "Yeah. Big brother Spain's really dedicated, isn't he?"<br/>           "What the hell do you mean by that?"<br/>           "Oh, I just meant he'd be a good option to marry. Because he'd be all about making sure you're happy. Right?"<br/>            "I guess..." Romano looked away, his lips pursed in what was definitely not a pout. <br/>            "Mhm! He's very caring, ve~? And optimistic, and hardworking, and-"<br/>Romano bit the inside of his cheek and looked off to the side. Why was he going on about this? Veneziano paying this so much attention? He sounded like he was about to go off about Spain the same way he rambled about that stupid potato bastard!</p><p>"What, do you like him?"</p><p>Time to retreat!</p><p>"Nope!"<br/>    “Well you sure sing a heck of a lotta praises of him,” Romano said, looking away. He was not jealous. He wasn’t. It was just that, well, no. He would have to settle anyway, maybe for Portugal but it seemed that guy didn’t stay in one place for very long if what England said had any truth to it.<br/>    “Fratello, no, it’s not like that,” Veneziano insisted.<br/>    “It’s fine if it is, so long as you’re not playing the field I guess.” Romano crossed his arms.<br/>    “Really, though, it’s not like that! I was just saying… for someone like you… there’s a lot of good traits that Spain has.”<br/>    “For someone like me? What does that mean?” He glared.<br/>    “I mean- because you answered the question?” He put on his best confused-face.<br/>    “Mm,” He grunted, not pleased. “Fine.” He said. But even so, he wasn’t convinced that Veneziano was not interested in his favorite Spaniard. <br/>            "Fratello," Veneziano's face fell- he was losing him! "I like Germany. You know I like Germany."<br/>            "So you say," Romano grumbled, straightening himself up. "I'm leaving. I have work to get back to." He didn't want to hear any more of this. It would affect his performance at work, and he didn't need that kind of distraction. If Veneziano wanted to go after Spain, whatever. They'd be better together anyway. He left without so much as a farewell.</p><p>Veneziano got his information, but he wondered what consequences his actions had.</p><p>        Surely nothing too serious.</p><p>Which is why Veneziano so easily messaged Spain later in the evening, typing away in the dark and giving away what he had picked up on. It made him giddy, reminding him about the time he snuck into an Allies meeting unnoticed. Until they did notice. That's not what mattered though!<br/>             'he picked a lot of guys with a similar personality to you to marry' He sent with a smile. Specifically,  ':)'.<br/>Spain's eyebrows went up as he read the text. 'Really?'<br/>             'mhhmm! also when it wasnt someone similar to you or a girl hed pick whoever had traits like reliable, laidback, ncie or a good cook' Veneziano tacked on at the end, '*nice'<br/>              'Anything else?'<br/>              'big brother france and prussia got pretty consistently put as kill, soooo dont be like them!'<br/>Spain chuckled. Alright. Easy enough. 'Thank you Veneziano'<br/>              'one more thing! :O'<br/>              'Yea?'<br/>              'i made him choose between you, portugal and beligium and well!!' Typing.. 'between you three even with miss belgium there, he chose you for marry! he chose you!!'<br/>It was a childish thing really. Being chosen in a game that forced you to answer awkward questions shouldn't have given him the confidence boost it did. There Spain was though, grinning like an idiot in his bed as he re-read the message over and over. Fue muy motivador!</p><p>He rolled out of bed, looking himself in the mirror with newfound determination in his eyes.<br/>    In the end, Veneziano's words seemed to tell him all he had to do was be himself and do his best. He could do that, and he would do it. He just had to pick a place, find a time, and get dressed for the occasion. He had to do this. He had to before Portugal beat him to it. He was going to do it. <br/>       He was going to ask Romano out.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Fortune favors the bold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We got a cover for our fic, done by @ontdah on Instagram (or Onlytrashliveshere on AO3). If you're interested in some Hetalia fanart, here's the link: https://www.instagram.com/p/CKTtpglFgLu/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Portugal leaned back, leisurely sipping away at a boba as he thought over his plan of attack. Spain wouldn't make it easy for him, but when did irmão make anything easy for him? Even when they were younger he'd inconvenience him. </p><p>
  <em>     Especially when it came to matters of territory.   </em>
</p><p>He mindlessly chewed away at the tapioca pearls he sucked up. It weirded him out a little to have to chew a drink. Boba wasn't his usual choice of beverage, but he wasn't in his usual place of lounging.</p><p>           "Would you please not rest your feet on the table, Portugal?" Macau's calm dulcets asked.</p><p>Being such a good friend, he acquiesced, now leaning forward in his seat with both feet on the floor. "I didn't take you as a fan of these sorts of drinks, Macau. They're very… Gentrified." </p><p>            "They've been trending in recent years. It's good to have them around for business. Besides, I think there's a charm to them." Macau, was, unsurprisingly occupied with business affairs even when Portugal was here for a visit. Portugal found it admirable if a little annoying at times.</p><p>           "I guess." He shrugged, slurping up the last of the pearls, "... Hey, I've got a question."</p><p>           "Mm?"</p><p>           "Say you and Hong Kong liked the same guy. Hong Kong's had the chance to make a move for years but has just kept the guy waiting all by his lonesome the whole time. What do you do?"</p><p>            "First of all, that wouldn't really work with the age difference me and my brother have. He's still a teen so I can only imagine the other guy is one too." Macau pushed up his glasses, "I hope you can see that a minor would not be someone very up my alley."</p><p>            Portugal pouted, "You're taking this too seriously. Hypothetically, in a world where there were different circumstances that could make it work."</p><p> </p><p>Macau's hands moved quickly along the papers and calculators he had out before him. He looked over one paper, scribbled something down on another, tapped away at the calculator, then scribbled on yet another paper. He'd then look all of those over, recalculate them- and if there was no error, he'd enter it into his ledger.</p><p>      Portugal watched him work, admiring the smooth flow of his movements as he awaited the response.</p><p>     "If I've developed feelings for the individual too, I'd most likely tell Hong Kong," Macau said between his flurry of accounts, "Then we'd figure it out between ourselves. I wouldn't do something that would hurt him."</p><p>Perhaps he shouldn't have used Hong Kong in his example, Portugal thought. Macau considered him his little brother. Okay, redo. "What if the situation was you and China, then? And you both liked the same guy."</p><p>       "Is this what's going on between you and Spain?"</p><p>    “Does it matter?”</p><p>    “Why don’t you just talk to him about it, Portugal?”</p><p>    “Do you know how crazy he is about Romano? That’s a death wish! Last night he practically strangled me over him.”</p><p>    “Then why are you getting involved?” Macau asked, utterly confused. Westerners sometimes…</p><p>    “Because I’m not backing down just cause he’s gonna throw a fit,” Portugal said stubbornly. “And why shouldn’t Romano have a pick if he wants one?”</p><p>    “If you get in trouble,” Macau began tiredly, "I won't be able to help you out. Your brother is a force to be reckoned with, as noble as your intentions might be. What makes you so confident Romano will be interested in you, anyway?"</p><p>            "I'll interest him. I've got a plan."</p><p>Macau raised an eyebrow. Oh Mr. Portugal, playing with hearts again. He turned away and shook his head, an amused little smile playing across his lips. He closed up his ledger, treating it like a delicate little flower as he put it up for safekeeping. Then, after tucking everything else away, he got up from his seat. Portugal watched him curiously.</p><p>             "Okay. Let's walk while you tell me all about this strategy of yours. I'm intrigued by how you plan to die." Macau chuckled. </p><p>Portugal resisted the desire to pout at him as he got up with a stretch. As he did so, he made an exaggerated sound that was borderline inappropriate, earning a light little smack on his head from Macau with his fan. Ow. He didn't deserve that in the slightest. He rubbed his head as Macau led him outside, the sights and sounds of the bustling metro in the distance filling his senses.</p><p>              "I can't help but feel like you have little faith in me, amigo."</p><p>              "I can't imagine why." Macau hid his smirk behind his gently fluttering fan.</p><p>    “Oh, whatever.” Portugal rolled his eyes, a little playful smile on his face as he laughed. “I’ve done well before.”</p><p>    “Yes, but this is a very different circumstance. And you have to admit, he knows Spain better, doesn’t he?”</p><p>    “He does, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t give me a chance. I think he just needs to get used to me. I can do that- and I can be charming.”</p><p>    “Why are you going after the same man your brother goes crazy over, though? Don’t you love your brother?” Macau asked, looking at the nature around them.</p><p>    “I do, but he's been beating around the bush for years. If he didn't want 'his'," Portugal air-quoted, "Romano stolen away, then he should've made a move sooner. I'm giving him the kick in the ass he needs, like a good brother, see?"</p><p>Macau did not see.</p><p>            "Okay, maybe not then." He sighed, running a hand through his hair, "Either way, Spain can't keep acting like he has Romano all to himself when he hasn't even made a move. Romano's got a pretty face, can you blame me for wanting to have a go at him?"</p><p>             "A wise man would listen to the head on his shoulders, not the one between his legs," Macau responded simply, his face miraculously composed. </p><p>Portugal couldn't help but laugh.</p><p> </p><p>Their walk had managed to take them to a strip mall where the rural just about met metro. Macau insisted they go inside, as there was a place that did a most excellent hot pot- but Portugal already knew it was just another ploy to get him to spend more money in his country. The ploy succeeded, however, because he was hungry. Bastard. He knew Portugal hadn't had lunch yet. No matter, he already knew he risked the fullness of his wallet every time he visited Macau. He knew what he was in for. When they entered a restaurant decorated with deceptive business minimalism, Portugal accepted his fate as he opened up the menu. </p><p>           "You're so greedy." He frowned.</p><p>Macau smiled with his eyes and his undeniable smirk was hidden behind his fan. </p><p>            "May I recommend the lobster?"</p><p>Portugal soon found himself eating lobster. In between bites, he revisited the topic of his strategy to make himself irresistible to Romano </p><p>             "So, I'll start off with this…"</p><p> </p><p>Romano initially ignored the first few times his phone went off. He was at work, after all. After the third time, however, he finally checked. <em> Someone better be dead and/or leaving him a large sum of money! </em></p><p><em>             ' </em>I watched one of America's big-budget Hollywood productions,' read a message from Portugal, 'It was about your mythology. I thought it was interesting, so I went to lookup more online, but I figured actually going to someone knowledgeable about it would be much better.'</p><p>Romano raised an eyebrow. In the middle of the workday for this? At least Portugal knew America's take would be a bunch of over-exaggerated crap, though. 'I'm busy. Bother Veneziano with this.'</p><p>             'Sorry, I was hoping to hear it from you. I didn't mean to bug you. Can I ask you about it later then? I never realized what a rich history you had.'</p><p>             'That's on you for being an ignorant idiota and missing out'</p><p>             'I don't plan on missing out anymore. Chat with you later?'</p><p>             'Ciao'</p><p>Romano set down his phone and returned to the paperwork. Why did he want him? Veneziano was so much more artsy, he'd tell the story a lot better than he would. There was no reason for Portugal to be going after him- unless he was just trying to get close to his brother through him somehow. The thought depressed him, but it was plausible. Maybe he just didn't know any better. If he was anything like Spain, he'd be an idiot like that. Those were the only real reasons Romano could come up with. It didn't make sense to him for anyone to choose him over his brother. Veneziano was favored by everyone else ever since they were kids.</p><p>             Even Spain used to favor him. He winced at the thought, and then chastised himself. He shouldn’t blame Spain, that wasn’t fair. Of course, he would’ve wanted Veneziano. Romano was useless in comparison- no, in general. He didn’t clean very well, he was bad at art, and all his people were known for was farming or joining the mafia. He felt a surge of self-hatred creep up on him, but shoved himself into more paperwork. He shouldn’t think about that now, he was useful for doing paperwork that Veneziano refused to help with. Someone had to keep Italy going.</p><p>    He worked until the end of the day, stewing in his depression until he got out of work. He went home, and within seconds his little dumpster cat, Bambino, came to his aid, mewling her love. He scooped her up, petting her hairless body as she licked his cheek. </p><p>    “Good girl,” He cooed.</p><p>    “Fratello?” Veneziano called, rushing downstairs.</p><p>    “You should hope it’s me!” He called, sighing. This guy. Never learns.</p><p>            "I just wanna be sure!" Veneziano whined as he stepped down the stairs and stood before him. </p><p>Romano rolled his eyes and refocused his attention to his furless baby, pressing kisses to her little forehead. He'd be quicker to entrust Bambino with home security before his ditz of a brother. <em> You're supposed to make sure who's there before the person enters your home, stupido </em> , Romano thought as he cuddled his kitten. <em> God, he really lost Grandpa Rome's love to that? </em> That was <em> molto deprimente. </em></p><p>       Buzz buzz!</p><p>Romano blinked, carefully transferring Bambino to one arm before digging through his pocket for his phone. He opened it up after fishing it out. </p><p>              "Who is it, fratello?" Veneziano leaned over his shoulder, trying to sneak a peek. Nosey.</p><p>               "None of your business." He grumbled as he moved rooms for privacy.</p><p> </p><p>'Boa noite'</p><p> </p><p>Portugal.</p><p> </p><p>Romano carefully set Bambino down in his lap and pet her back. Oh good. Him again. The hell was with this guy?</p><p>'What do you want?'</p><p>             'I recall asking your professional input on Roman mythology'</p><p>'I recall telling you to ask Veneziano.'</p><p>              'I recall telling you I wanted to hear it from you.'</p><p>'You don't give up, do you?'</p><p>              'Not on you, no'</p><p>He felt a light blush bloom on his cheeks. This bastard said the strangest things sometimes, Romano swore.</p><p>              'Will you tell me then? Please?' Portugal sent him, 'I'm hooked. Your culture is some incredible stuff'</p><p>    ‘Well it’s kinda hard to talk about over text, you know’ Romano sent, sighing, although in all honesty he <em> was </em> flattered.</p><p>    ‘Then maybe we could call or something?’ Portugal sent hopefully.</p><p>    Romano looked at the message, a bit confused when a small smile tugged at his lips. Huh. He was persistent.</p><p>    ‘Fine, but just for a little bit, I still should get dinner’</p><p>    ‘I’ll take whatever time you have, dia’</p><p>    Romano could guess that meant day since it was practically the same thing in Spanish. ‘Stop being like that or I won’t call you’ He sent, trying to ignore that he liked that.</p><p>    ‘Okay, okay, can we call? I’ll be good haha’ Portugal sent.</p><p>    Romano took a breath, looked at Bambino, and kissed her head. “Wish me luck, my sweet little baby?”</p><p>    Bambino just purred at him, and Romano took it as luck. A cat’s blessing surely was lucky, after all-or at least his Mama Egypt would argue that. He called Portugal, and the line was quickly picked up.</p><p>    “Romano,” Portugal smiled, and Romano could hear it in his voice. He blushed a bit darker. </p><p>    “Portugal,” He said primly, trying to compose himself.</p><p>            "Good to hear your voice. How do I go about saying good evening in Italian?"</p><p>            "Look it up, stupid. Don't waste my time with stupid questions." Romano huffed, "Now what do you want to know? Get to the point."</p><p>            "Why don't you tell me all about your favorite god or goddess? I'm certain you have excellent taste."</p><p>Romano looked down at Bambino in his lap and rolled his eyes, as though the kitten would understand his situation. He didn't seem to have any ulterior motives so far, not that Romano knew what could be gotten out knowing his thoughts on Roman mythology, so he played along. He told him. He told him about Fortuna, goddess of wealth and prosperity. He told him everything he knew about her, her achievements, and her relationships with the other gods. Portugal asked so he gave him exactly what he asked for. It was… kinda enjoyable to do it, too. Romano even went off on little rambles and tangents at times, criticizing the gods like it was common gossip. It was nice. It was nice having someone who was there to not just hear it, but actually listen.</p><p>         <em> And Portugal listened. </em></p><p>It was enough to keep Romano away from the dinner for a whole hour, and Bambino could only helplessly watch as her papa was entranced with the man on the other end of the line.</p><p> </p><p>The man in question lounged lazily on the sofa of a far too pricey hotel suite. A proud smirk glued to his face as he added a smile to his words. He looked over to the side, where Macau silently sat next to him, glancing between Portugal and the news on the television. </p><p>      'His favorite deity is Fortuna.' He mouthed to Macau, his face as mischievous as a cat toying with a rodent.</p><p>       Macau raised an eyebrow in response. He knew he would not get one until Portugal wished Romano a good night and promptly hung up. When he did, he raised his brow again. "So, Portugal? Your little plan has begun?"</p><p>Portugal grinned, leaning his head back over the backrest of the sofa. He looked up to the ceiling, his chest bouncing as a soft chuckle left his lips.</p><p> </p><p>       "Fortune favors the bold, Macau. And I think I'm going to start getting awfully bold."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. He's not so bad</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Romano's head was in the clouds as he peeled open a can of cat food for Bambino. The call he had with Portugal left him light on his feet, walking on air, bouncing every step of the way. He had talked on and on, yet it didn't seem like Portugal lost interest for even a second! Romano even dared to smile to himself a little, as the only company he had was his cat, but even she was distracted watching the wet food drop into her bowl. While watching the hairless kitten lick away at the food, Romano was content. Maybe that Portugal guy wasn't as much of a bastardo as he thought he was- even if he said weird things at times that made Romano's stomach flip. He couldn't help but wonder why he kept blabbering that sappy crap, but having been used to Veneziano being the one showered in affection, he wasn't going to complain. Not too much, anyway.<br/>         "Guess you are lucky," he said as he crouched down to pet Bambino. "He's not so bad as long as you're blessing us, eh?"<br/>         Bambino only mewled in response, as that was the extent of her communication abilities.<br/>    Romano chuckled, petting her gently. ‘Right, you just enjoy your food, okay?” He said.<br/>    And she went to. He began to make himself some food, settling on something quicker. As he cooked he heard the sound of feet down the hall. It had to be Veneziano, so he didn’t worry.<br/>    “Fratello?” Veneziano began, and Romano wasn’t surprised.<br/>    “What?” He answered.<br/>    “Are you just now eating?” <br/>    “No, I’m making food for the trashcan so we can attract rats, yes I’m just now eating, idiota!”<br/>    “There’s no need to yell!” Veneziano whined.<br/>    Romano sighed. There went Cloud 9, and he had ruined it with his own buttface routine. “Fine, I’m eating now.”<br/>    “Why are you eating so late?”<br/>    “I was in a call.”<br/>    “Not for work though, right?”<br/>    “No, it was an acquaintance,” Romano replied, starting to eat. Bambino had just finished her food, so she went and rubbed up against his legs, which made him smile once more.<br/>    “Who?” Veneziano asked, playing it off as simple curiosity.<br/>    There went Romano’s smile.<br/>            "Why the hell do you need to know everything, you idiot?" He snapped, stabbing his fork into his food. "Fratello this, fratello that. Questions, questions, questions! Do you ever shut up?!"<br/>Veneziano instantly deflated at being told off. He was even tearing up. The sight filled Romano with regret against his will. Dammit, he ruined everything with his attitude! It was no wonder everyone loved his brother over him. His skull may have been full of nothing but air and thoughts about women, but at least he didn't take every opportunity to be a dick like Romano did. His night started so well and now he was wrecking it for himself. How the hell did Portugal stand being in a call with him for so long?<br/>Romano's only comfort from his mind's cycle of self-depreciation was Bambino, who gently kneaded at his pant leg in an attempt to snap him out of his thoughts. He sighed and picked her up, holding her close as he turned his attention to his useless, but ultimately well-meaning crybaby of a brother.<br/>               "Veneziano," He grumbled, getting his attention.<br/>               "V-ve…?" Veneziano looked at him, wiping away his little tears.<br/>               "I'm, er, sorry. I didn't mean to get all pissy with you. But you can be so annoying sometimes, you know that?" Romano sighed, patting his head. <br/>               "Sorry, fratello. I'll try to be less annoying, I just wanted to know…" Veneziano looked down, hamming up the innocent kicked puppy look. "I overheard a little bit earlier and you sounded pretty happy." He said softly.<br/>    “Well I got to talk about ancient Rome and the mythology at the time,” Romano said. “And… well, he listened to everything- and asked relevant questions. It’s always nice to talk about your passions,” he explained, softer now that he felt bad about being a buttface. Bambino licked at his cheek.<br/>    “Ve~ Really? That’s nice,” he smiled. “You should talk with them more if you can then, right?” Veneziano smiled. Surely it was Spain, right?<br/>    “Yeah, it is nice,” He patted his kitten’s head gently. “And I wouldn’t mind talking more about it when I am free, but I’m not sure how much time I’ll have- and besides, I’m worried that he… won’t be worth my time.” If he is really a player, he’ll probably just move along after all.<br/>    “What do you mean?” Veneziano asked, utterly confused.<br/>    “Well, there is a rumor about him,” Romano began. "He's been around. Pretty unfaithful to the one real partner he had in the past. Overall, just an ass. So that's just had me thinking, is all."<br/>Veneziano nodded along, thinking really hard about the information presented to him. Hmm, Mr. Austria did complain about big brother Spain wanting bigamy when they were married. He figured that's where the rumor must've come from. Fratello seemed very worried about them too. This made Veneziano concerned. Oh no, he had to do something, or else fratello would overthink and back out from fear- he had to do something! He silently sucked in a breath as he tried to think of something that would sway Romano.</p><p>Who knew those petty complaints apparently still carried weight, anyway? Especially complaints from Mr. Austria- he complained all the time!</p><p>             "Aw, well," Veneziano made many vague hand gestures only his fratello would understand as his mind scrambled for a defense, "Where'd the rumors come from anyway? It's-a probably his past partner being-a petty! And you know, uh, it's easy to mix up being super friendly with people as flirting!" <br/>Now it was Romano's turn to think. Veneziano seemed dead set on making sure he didn't give up on his companion. Did he know? There was no way that idiot could've pieced together who he was talking to. He was probably just worried he'd fuck himself over and lose a possible new friend before he even had a chance to get to know him. Oh, Veneziano, his head was empty but his heart was full. Unfortunately, his dimwitted brother's reasoning still wasn't enough to convince him.<br/>    “It didn’t sound like that, but whatever,” Romano said, eating his food and petting Bambino. He finished up and set his dish in the sink, while Veneziano fretted. <br/>    “Well you know how Mr. Austria is, fratello, he complains about everything!” He said eventually.<br/>    Romano furrowed his brow. “It’s not Austria, Veneziano.”<br/>    Veneziano furrowed his brow. “Then who is it?”<br/>    “England?”<br/>    Veneziano furrowed his brow, loading as he thought. Spain never got together with England, right? “It’s England?”<br/>    “That’s what I said, keep up,” Romano answered impatiently.<br/>    It took a little while longer before he said, “You weren’t talking to Spain?”<br/>    Romano sighed. “No?”<br/>            ".... Oh." Veneziano binked. Merda.<br/>            "Why do you think I was talking to Spain?"<br/>            "Because two of you get along?" Veneziano shifted away a little, his Italian instinct to retreat ringing the alarm bells in his head. "Never mind. I'm going to bed."<br/>             "Already?" Romano raised an eyebrow.<br/>             "I'm meeting with Germany early, tomorrow. Buona notte!" With that, Veneziano quickly retreated upstairs. Who did England marry? It had to be Portugal, right? If it was Portugal, he'd have to let Spain know he was making a move on his fratello. He shouldn't have just assumed it was big brother Spain- fratello would definitely catch on now!</p><p>Romano merely watched Veneziano rush upstairs with a shake of the head.    <br/>      What an eccentric. <br/>He turned to Bambino, who mewled upon receiving his attention. It put a small smile on his face as he pet her. He left the kitchen and occupied the living room once again, getting comfortable on the sofa. Bambino's soft purring soothed his spirit as she laid on his chest, pulling his mind into a trance. Things were really changing around recently. Was it all because he took a chance and accepted Portugal's offer for a night out? If that was the case, he regrets not going out with other people sooner. Maybe he wouldn't have been so lonely, but it wasn't like he was invited out often. That was on Romano, though. He tended to scare people off with his… everything. He wasn't the most pleasant to be around unless someone was a bella, but even then, Veneziano often won out over him. He knew this. Either he was outdone by his brother or sabotaged by himself. <br/>God, how pathetic. Portugal's invitation definitely must've been a product of divine intervention. <br/>Romano blinked as he felt the familiar roughness of feline tongue on his cheek. He looked down. His face was wet and he just knew it wasn't just Bambino's doing. He wiped his eyes and kissed the kitty on her forehead. He was a fucking mess. Grazie Signore for the existence of cats.<br/>             "I'm sorry for concerning you, Bambino," He cooed, "Papa's okay. He's just having a moment."<br/>              Bambino meowed, rubbing her head up against his cheek. Her purring made his face vibrate. The corners of Romano's mouth tugged upward. He supposed as long as Bambino loved him, he'd be okay.<br/>He pet her with a reverence in his touch, humming a tarantella softly to her and himself. He closed his eyes and fell back into a trance, soothed by the sound of Bambino's rumbling. He felt ready to pass out on the sofa until his phone buzzed. That damn thing was busier now than it's ever been in its life. With a grumble, he reached over and opened it up, checking the notification... He squinted at the message, looking as though he was glaring at it until his expression softened as he read it.<br/>          'Hey Romano! :) Sorry if Im bothering you at all but I really wanted to ask if we could meet up in person sometime? Really quick I promise' came the message from Spain's contact.<br/>                'What for, idiota?'<br/>            'Id rather tell you in person. Would it be okay to just see you after youre done with work?' <br/>                 'Why can't you tell me over text? It'd be easier.'<br/>            'Pleaaaaaaase?'<br/>                 'Fine. Tomorrow after work. This better not be stupid or I'm going to be so pissed at you for wasting my time, jerk.'<br/>             ':D'<br/>Romano clicked off his phone and set it aside. What an idiot. So stupid. A nuisance. Bastard. He huffed, putting a hand over his mouth as he thought about the exchange. Who the hell sends a happy face after getting a message like the one he sent?<br/>        Spain, apparently. Romano grumbled, his mind now stuck on the thought of one of the many men who rivaled his brother in terms of empty-headedness. He could never read the mood, he was stupid, and he was annoying as all hell, and when it came to Romano he…<br/>Well, Spain seemed to actually enjoy being around him. He couldn't imagine why other than him not knowing any better. Maybe he was a masochist. Or had no self-respect. Something. There had to be something. There was no way he genuinely liked him for him. Romano knew he was an asshole, he acted like that on purpose. He didn't give anyone a reason to like him because he didn't want to get his hopes up only to be disappointed.<br/>With a tired sigh, Romano sat up and turned on the television. Thinking was depressing. He wanted to find something to numb his thoughts for a while until he was tired enough to sleep.<br/>       Roughly two hours of soulless programming later, he yawned and carefully carried Bambino upstairs. Time for bed. Tomorrow, he'd be seeing Spain after work. The thought was oddly comforting as he laid down and wrapped himself in covers. It was something to look forward to.</p><p>Night fell and then the morning came quickly, too quick for Romano's taste. He had ended up drooling on the pillow in his sleep. Gross. <br/>Bambino had ended up sleeping curled up next to his head. Cute.<br/>He slowly rolled out of bed, greeting the day with a tired sigh before getting ready to face it.</p><p>He got ready for the day quietly, in hopes not to disturb Bambino yet, but as soon as the door opened she was up, padding to his feet and mewling to be picked up. He obliged her, and she licked at his cheek lovingly. He smiled. He loved his little dumpster bambino.<br/>He made some breakfast for the two of them, though he didn’t know if Veneziano was home. If he wasn’t, it would be lunch for him later. Generally, Romano did the cooking and Veneziano did the cleaning. And Romano did all the work for the country aside from external affairs.<br/>He couldn’t complain, though. That was his little brother. And besides, he just wasn’t as good at office work as Romano was. He wasn’t detail-oriented. So the brunt of the work fell on Romano.<br/>Romano finished the meal, feeding Bambino too, and calling for his brother, who came down soon after calling his response. So he wasn’t out with Germany… Veneziano strolled in, and Romano gave him breakfast.<br/>“I thought you had a meeting with Germany,” he said casually, watching him.<br/>“Oh! That. Yeah, it got postponed,” Veneziano smiled, waving his hand dismissively, but Romano knew he was lying because he refused to face him. <br/>He let it slide this time, opting to finish his meal. Once it was finished he picked Bambino up, giving her a kiss on the forehead. “Papa’s going to be home just a little late tonight. I’ll miss you, okay? Be good, you always are.” He kissed her head a few times more.<br/>She mewled, purring at him.<br/>He set her down and left for work, which turned out to be mundane, but that was no surprise, really. Most office work is. Throughout the day he found himself getting more and more nervous about his meeting with Spain. It was strange, he had no reason to be, the man seemed happy and carefree as ever, but something felt off. And Romano was good with gut feelings, so if something told him it was off, it probably was. Maybe he should call it off? Would that be the right solution?<br/>Around lunchtime, he got a text. Spain was also good with gut feelings, and his was telling him that Romano might be doubting it.<br/>‘Hope Im not bothering you just wanted to say Im looking forward to tonight. Thanks for letting me talk with you real quick. :)’<br/>'You don't have to thank me, just don't waste my time."<br/>'Ok Romano :D Got it!'<br/>Romano set his phone aside and tried to lose himself in paperwork. There was nothing to worry about. Those were the words he repeated in his head as time passed by and paperwork stacked up. He didn't know why he grew progressively antsier as the clock ticked- he'd met up with Spain after work before -but something was just off this time around, and not knowing what it was made the feeling worse. When the clock was just a few ticks away from telling him it was time to go, his phone buzzed again.<br/>              'Im outside!' Spain sent a picture of himself, the sunshine idiot happily sitting on a bench not too far from his place of work. <br/>              'I didn't need the evidence, stupido.'<br/>He hated to admit the picture made his insides squirm. Not in a disgusted way. Quite the opposite. It was goddamn embarrassing to feel. Romano sucked it up though and grabbed his things, wishing his boss a good night as he passed him on the way out. He only wished him a good night to be polite. On the inside, he wanted nothing more than to give the stronzo a piece of his mind- especially about the piles of files on his desk.</p><p>The evening breeze was a welcome change from the warmth of the day. <br/>Romano stepped outside the building and looked around, using the image as a guide in his head. He turned his gaze and sure enough, there he was, preoccupied with taking a picture of two rats fighting in front of a garbage bin. God, he really didn't have a single thought in his mind, huh?<br/>              "Hey, jerk!" He called out to him.<br/>Spain looked up suddenly, nearly dropping his phone in the process as he saw Romano. He lit up and then, as though the universe wanted to personally tease Romano, the streetlamp nearby did too. When he ran up to greet him, the lamp behind him caused a ring of light to shine behind his head, like a halo. The effect was only exaggerated with the expression on his face. It was enough to make Romano pointedly look at anywhere but him.<br/>             "Romano! Good evening," Spain greeted him warmly, "Since you didn't want your time wasted, I promise I'll make this really quick."<br/>              Now that Spain was here though, radiating pure joy at just seeing him, Romano didn't think he'd terribly mind having his time wasted any more. "Mm, I have to get some things on the way home. You could come along and tell me while I do them." He grumbled quietly.<br/>              "Really?" If Spain had a tail, it would be wagging.<br/>              "Yes, idiota. Don't look so damn happy, it's just errands." He huffed, starting to walk. He could feel Spain practically following him at his heel. "What did you come to tell me then? Spit it out."<br/>               Spain reached out and gently put a hand on his shoulder as he accompanied him. "Ah, well, since I'm tagging along with you, I figured there's no need to rush."<br/>               "Fine." Romano refused to acknowledge the warmth on his shoulder, lest his guts twist in on themselves.<br/>Now, they were on the way to a grocery mart. There was a minor issue though, Romano didn't actually have any errands to run here. He just blurted it out last minute because he didn't want to separate from Spain so soon. It was sad, he knew it. He knew he told him to not waste his time in the first place but… The comforting weight of Spain's hand on him was so nice.<br/>                 "So what did you need to get, Romano? Maybe I can help?"<br/>    “Oh, just some pasta and wine.” Both things were allowed in excess at their house, even though they generally made their own pasta when they could or bought it fresh.<br/>    “Ah,” Spain nodded. “Well, okay." He grabbed a basket once they got there, intent on holding the stuff so Romano didn’t have to. "You leave the carrying to the boss!"<br/>            Romano rolled his eyes. "You aren't my boss any more."<br/>Compared to the one he had now though, Romano almost wished he was. Spain was a stupid bastardo, but at least he was the kind of boss that let him nap on the clock and didn't force him to do any hard work. He had too much of that now and Veneziano barely did anything to help. He was swamped to the point of nearly drowning. No doubt there'd be even more on his desk tomorrow, not to mention the other tasks he had already been assigned, along with- he shook his head. Those thoughts would put him in a sour mood if he didn't stop now. It might surprise some, but Romano actually didn't enjoy feeling like crap all the time.<br/>            "Romano."<br/>He looked over at the sound of his name. Spain always said it with a roll to the R. It was weird. He was weird. That's why it made him feel warm. Because that ditzy Spanish bastard was so damn weird.<br/>            "What?" He grouchily pursed his lips at him, but there was no real aggression in his expression.<br/>            "Just… getting your attention." Spain chuckled softly, "You looked a little lost in your thoughts again. Something on your mind?"<br/>    “Just work,” Romano sighed, shaking his head. “I’m fine.”<br/>    “You looked stressed.” He frowned.<br/>    “Work is stressful,” he shrugged. What was he supposed to do about it?<br/>    “How stressful?” Spain asked, a bit concerned, his own worry about asking Romano out replaced by the worry he had that Romano was less than okay.<br/>    “What?” Romano asked, utterly thrown.<br/>    “Do you get like this often? How often do you skip lunch?” Spain was facing him head-on now, piercing green eyes studying him, and it made Romano shrink back. He didn’t like it. It was diving too much into his personal business too quickly and that made him uncomfortable. And when Romano got uncomfortable, he had the tendency to get defensive.<br/>            "N- none of your damn business, idiota!" He shoved his face away, forcing Spain to turn his intense gaze elsewhere. "Don't you know it's weird to ask invasive questions like that? You're such a pain!"<br/>            "Lo siento, Romano. I just know being a country is hard work, so I really worry about you sometimes…" Spain said so softly and earnestly it almost made Romano himself soften up. The keyword being almost. Instead, his concern only seemed to stoke his fire more.<br/>             "You don't have to worry about me, I'm not a little kid anymore!" He huffed, continuing to push his face away in a fitful manner. Stupid Spain treating him like he was just his little colony again! He didn't need his patronizing! Romano was so riled up, steam practically blew from his head in hot, cloudy puffs.<br/>With that, Spain closed his eyes, inhaling slowly and letting out a calm sigh. He took hold of Romano's wrist, with a touch so gentle the Italian was taken aback. He pulled his hand away from his cheek and met Romano's eyes. His gaze was no longer that of a man trying to interrogate, but instead, one trying to soothe. It filled Romanno with feelings that all built up into a lump in his throat.<br/>             "You're not a little kid anymore, Romano. And that's exactly why I'm worried about you." Spain's words had a way of making his cheeks tickle with warmth. "You're a big country now, with big country responsibilities, so I'm worried about you overwhelming yourself with them."<br/>              "I-..." Romano had a million different ways to tell him to royally piss off in his head, but as he felt the warmth of Spain's calloused hand so gently wrapped around his wrist, his defenses faltered.<br/>He wasn't used to anyone being concerned about him overworking himself. He was used to being yelled at for not working hard enough. Being scolded for being a lazy ass, or a freeloader, a disappointment. Never being confronted for working too much, because everything he had done before was never enough. This had never happened before, and because it had never happened before, Romano didn't know what to do. That meant Romano went to old reliable, which was making himself out to be unpleasant enough it made the source of discomfort go away. Spain, that jerk…<br/>                "I'm fine. Skipping out on lunch every now and again won't kill me and neither will a bit of hard work." He looked into Spain's eyes, his own hardened from years of growing jaded.<br/>                "Romano-"<br/>                "Drop it or leave me the hell alone. I don't need, nor do I want your worry." He yanked the basket from his hand and turned away, walking ahead without warning. He didn't look back to see if he upset Spain, he didn't want to. He didn't hear his footsteps catching up with him and, though that formed a pit in his stomach, it gave him the answer he needed. Why did he keep scaring off everyone who was just trying to look out for him?</p><p>Spain stood stunned for a moment after Romano had given him the choice. That was tough stuff.<br/>     Dios mio, Romano must really be stressed out. Spain was not a man who often let himself slip into a frown, but right now he could feel the smile drop from his lips. <br/>He couldn't ask Romano now. He already had too much on his plate, he couldn't bother him with a date. He had to do something though, something to help lift his burdens first somehow- even if that meant Portugal would get a head start on him. It frustrated him a little, thinking of his hermano swooping in and abusing his charms on Romano, but Romano had too much on his plate already. He couldn't possibly ask him to squeeze him in. Not right now at least.<br/>Right then. Change of plans. Just because he hadn't asked him out like he wanted to tonight didn't mean he was giving up. In fact, he was very motivated in pursuing Romano, but it wasn't to ask him out on a date. <br/>He didn't quite know what he'd do yet, but he wasn't giving it up!</p><p>Romano looked back when he heard the approaching sound of someone running down the aisle.<br/>    He found Spain, running quickly until he caught up with Romano again.<br/>    “Idiota, that’s dangerous!” Romano scolded.<br/>    “Lo siento, Romano,” Spain said. “But I wanted to catch up with you. The night’s not over yet, right? We can still spend some time?”<br/>    “I guess if you don’t start prying again,” Romano said.<br/>            "I won't!"</p><p>Much to Romano's surprise, Spain really didn't. What a relief. Any more prodding into his life would've only stressed him out more.<br/>After paying for the wine and pasta, Italian necessities, Romano walked home. The whole way, Spain accompanied him. It was pretty nice having him around, and a few times Romano even found himself smiling.<br/>     Madonna, he was having a rollercoaster of a week.</p><p>"Buenas noches, Romano." Spain squeezed his shoulder as he dropped him off.<br/>"Buona notte, bastardo." Romano wished him before he closed the door. With a sigh, he pressed his head against the wood and shut his eyes.<br/>       He could get used to people caring about him like this… He was just worried if he should.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. "You're Italy to me."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I didn't realize you were genuinely serious."<br/>         "Of course I would be."<br/>"Shall I plan your funeral now?"<br/>          Portugal rolled his eyes as Macau looked him over with judgment in his gaze. "No. I don't plan on dying."<br/>"No one does, minha amigo." Macau flicked open his fan with one quick motion and fanned himself a gentle breeze. "No one plans on looking Death in the eyes when looking for an affair either."<br/>           "Fortuna's in my corner." Portugal grinned. He was dripping confidence as he looked at himself in the mirror. He had dressed up in an olive green suit with a pink undershirt, feeling himself as he made some minor adjustments. He was planning to make an especially good impression today as he executed the next part of his plan. He'd been warming Romano up to him for the past few days with phone calls and text exchanges, conversations that lasted anywhere from a couple of minutes to a few hours. He was confident he was past the stage of getting Romano comfortable with chatting with him, so now he wanted to get him comfortable spending actual time with him. How did he plan on that? <br/>      Well, A date, of course.<br/>He planned on being nothing but a gentleman. He'd spoil Romano and get him to the point where he could just relax around him. Romano had complained a few times that work had been difficult, so poor Italiano deserved a little break, no? Besides, Portugal knew of a good opportunity when he saw one. It was too bad Macau, who was usually as equally of an opportunist as himself, was trying to play angel on his shoulder.<br/>          "It would be very unfortunate if you died a fool's death, Mr. Portugal." He sighed, plucking a dust particle off of Portugal's shoulder.<br/>          "Spain wouldn't do that to his little brother. I'm flesh and blood. His kin." <br/>          "Right now, you're his competition." Macau pushed up his glasses, "I doubt he'll take your brotherhood into account when you're trying to get close to Romano just so you can just get into his pants. I don't blame him."<br/>           "You're siding with him?" Portugal frowned, "Besides, you don't know that it's just for shallow satisfaction. I'm not that much of a tomcat. Have you no faith in me, Macau?"<br/>           "I'm going to bestow upon you some Chinese wisdom, Portugal; bù zuò bù sǐ." Macau flicked his fan closed and lightly tapped Portugal's nose. "Don't act stupid, then you won't die, stupid."<br/>    Portugal laughed at that. “Good wisdom, but I don’t think I’m doing that bad!” He insisted. “Besides, I really do think he’s cute. It’s not all just tryna get in his pants. He should have a choice.”<br/>    Macau sighed. “I don’t think I’m going to convince you to stop, will I? Perhaps I could convince you to stay for a game, then?” Since he was suicidal he may as well lose some money at Macau’s anyway, right?<br/>    Portugal rolled his eyes. “Nice try, I’m taking him somewhere nice tonight.”<br/>    “Well if you don’t you know my place is always open,” Macau tempted.<br/>    Portugal scoffed. “Oh, ye of so little faith!”<br/>Macau flicked open his fan and brought a gentle breeze to his face. Not receiving a verbal response right away, Portugal took it as the end of the conversation. He gave his friend a light pat on the shoulder before heading towards the door, wishing him a quick tchau. He still had to make a little trip to grab a gift- after all, a gentleman doesn't show up to a date empty-handed. That's what England once told him. That was once upon a time ago.</p><p>As he left, Macau could only sigh and wonder, why is it Portugal insisted on bringing his scheming to his place? He wasn't his territory anymore.</p><p>On the way to Rome, Portugal took a stop to buy some flowers. It was the standard, but when he and Romano knew each other better, he'd personalize his gift more. Make him feel more special the more their relationship progressed.<br/>For now, flowers would do. He didn't want to give him too much too quickly, knowing Romano would back away like a scared animal if he made any sudden moves. Snapdragons, red poppies, evening primrose. Those looked real pretty together. He smiled sweetly at the seller, paying for the bouquet with a warm grazie before going on his way. Tonight, he had to really turn up the charm. If he didn't set a high standard from the start, Spain would have an easier time moving in on Romano and zoning him out.<br/>      Zoning him out…<br/>This was turning into a territorial dispute. It made him laugh a little to himself as he walked along the path. Just like old times. This time Portugal was on his own, though. Not that it mattered. He was stronger, smarter. He knew how to use his charm to his advantage. It was just Romano, anyway, not any actual important turf. Well, at least not to him… right now. Even so, he’d try to keep his distance, Romano was volatile and he didn’t want to get too attached.<br/>    He knocked on Romano’s door. He noticed a camera swivel to face him and gave it a little smile and a wave. Huh, he must take security seriously. Shortly after, Romano opened the door.<br/>    Portugal had told him to dress nicely tonight, and he did do the part. He had on a pastel green button-down and a jet black suit with a skinny black tie. His pocket square was maroon, though. He gave a low whistle of satisfaction.<br/>    “You did dress nicely- you clean up well,” Portugal said. “These are for you.” He handed him the flowers. <br/>    He took them, looking at them with warm cheeks. He had never received a romantic gift before. “You didn’t have to get me anything, idiota,” he scolded, trying to hide that his cheeks were burning.<br/>    “Ah, well, you deserve it. You deserve to have nice things… and nice dates, too, of course,” Portugal chuckled at the end, as though it were obvious.<br/>    Romano blushed darker, his curl starting to frazzle. He turned heel and went to put them in a vase. “You can step in!” He called as he did so, flustered but trying desperately not to show it.<br/>    Just then, Veneziano stepped out of his room. Romano hadn’t told him about the date. It was none of his business, so he was quite confused to find his fratello dressed up so nicely, and then even more surprised to find Portugal had done the same. <br/>This left a confused Italian standing at the top of the staircase trying to piece things together. He had just wanted some pasta. Why was Portugal here? Maybe big brother Spain would know. He didn't want to just ask him or fratello. Portugal was basically the enemy right now, and fratello would probably yell at him for not minding his own damn business. Since he didn't want to be yelled at, that left him with only one option.<br/>                'do u know what ur bro is up to??' He texted.<br/>                Spain messaged back after a few moments, 'He went to Macaus earlier because he had plans' He sent, 'Why?'<br/>With a shaky hand, caused by being naturally skittish, Veneziano snapped a quick picture of the scene that laid at the bottom of the staircase. It came at the cost of being a little blurry.<br/>                 'fratellos all dressed up too'<br/>                 Spain's reply came near instantaneously after that. 'Veneziano'<br/>                  '?'<br/>                  'Hes probably taking Romano out to dinner'<br/>                  'aaaa like a dinner date?'<br/>Portugal moved pretty quick, Veneziano thought. That was bad news for big brother Spain. It had been a few days since he had had his little text exchange with him. What was he procrastinating for?<br/>                   'I dont know what you can do but if you can do anything to knock mi hermano down a peg Id appreciate it' Spain sent, 'Tell me how Romano is afterwards'<br/>                    'si capo!'</p><p>Right, Veneziano nodded, filled with determinazione to fulfill the task at hand. He'd do his best!</p><p>With all the confidence of the mighty housecat, Veneziano padded down the steps, revealing himself to the entrance where Portugal stood. He tried very hard to give him a look of subtle disdain, also like a housecat. At least, like their housecat. Bambino had given Veneziano this look a thousand times, so he was confident he had mastered it. He'd give Portugal this disapproving gaze and surely damage his ego, that way he'll be less sure of himself on the date and totally embarrass himself in front of fratello. Molto bene idea, Veneziano!<br/>            "Good evening, Italy." Portugal greeted his voice a purr. "How are you?"<br/>            "Oh, ve- I'm just fine, actually." He replied, trying to carry himself in a cool, tough manner like Germany would.<br/>             "I like your shirt." Portugal smiled, pointing nonchalantly at the article in question.<br/>Veneziano tilted his head before looking down at himself. He was not very self-aware on even the best of days unless it came to how to save his own skin, so he did not think much of his appearance. He knew he was a pretty boy and ladies loved him, so why care? But now, he saw it. He was wearing one of Germany's shirts- that meant now the enemy had intel on him!<br/>              Portugal stared at him, watching with amusement as Veneziano's brain was clearly working in overdrive. "... Is it one of Germany's? It's twice your size. I also heard the two of you were pretty close."<br/>    Che palle, the audacity!<br/>               "And If we are?" He put his hands on his hips.<br/>               "Then it's nice you have someone who cares about you, amigo."<br/>Portugal shot him a smile, and Madonna, it felt like a shot. Veneziano noted the way the corners of his mouth turned up in that moment was as disarming as being frisked. It was no wonder fratello was being charmed so easily now. This man was built to entice and entrance and his smile made you want to give everything away. Veneziano then wondered if Spain could smile like that. It would make things a lot easier for him if he could. He probably couldn't, because he doubted his brother would stand a chance if that was the case. Since Veneziano was here and trying to intimidate the very tall pretty man in his doorway, he could safely rule that out. Why, would you entrust him with so much responsibility, big brother Spain? How was he supposed to do anything that would adversely affect the enemy?<br/>      Aah, he just wanted to go downstairs to enjoy some pasta! He should just surrender...<br/>               No! <br/>Veneziano shook his head, trying to shake out the usual defeatist thoughts. Things were looking tough, but if he didn't throw Portugal off his rhythm now, then he was practically just giving fratello away and he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he did that!<br/>                "Yes. It is." Veneziano looked him in the eyes as he straightened up.<br/>                Portugal continued to smile patiently. It was frustrating. "That's sweet. I hope I can have a connection like the two of you have one day," he said softly.<br/>                 "Yeah? With who, my fratello?" He dared to let out a huff.<br/>                 "Oh, hopefully." Portugal chuckled. It was the sound equivalent of a spoonful of honey. "I've really been enjoying the time I've been getting with him. Your irmão has been great, Italy."<br/>                 "What- uh-" He began, and stumbled over his tongue, but recovered rather quickly, "What makes you think you of all countries deserves a connection with my fratello, huh?" <br/>Clearly, classic intimidation wouldn't get to him. So now Veneziano was going to try and pick him apart psychologically. Emphasis on try, as he had never tried this tactic before.<br/>    Portugal laughed. “Maybe I don’t, but that won’t stop me from trying. He’s a great guy, charming, in his own way, and of course attractive. Don’t worry. I consider myself lucky to be able to accompany him.” His voice was warm and appreciating, and it carried through the house, where Romano flushed to hear any praises of himself. <br/>    Romano huffed, looking down for a moment before he went back to feeding Bambino. She mewled, rubbing against his leg, and for a moment he was glad she was a furless baby. <br/>    Veneziano wasn’t so sold though. He squinted at him. “My fratello is precious to me, don’t think you can get away with anything. I will find out.”<br/>    Portugal smiled that disarming smile once more, and Veneziano nearly relaxed. “Don’t worry, I think he’s precious to us all,” he said innocently. “But I’m glad you and your brother are close.”<br/>    “Apparently closer than you and Spain,” Veneziano tried to guilt-trip.<br/>    Portugal just shrugged, and Romano came downstairs.<br/>    “Ready?” Portugal greeted.<br/>    “Yeah, I’m ready,” Romano said.<br/>    Portugal offered his arm, and Romano took it. <br/>    “When will you be back, fratello?” Veneziano asked, frowning.<br/>    “When I’m back. I guess it depends, but I won’t be out too too late,” he said.<br/>    “Alright… I love you,” he said.<br/>    “Ti amo,” Romano said shyly, embarrassed to be soft.<br/>    And with that, they left for their date. After they left, Veneziano texted Spain.</p><p>'I tried to get to him spain but hes too charming &gt;:( fratellos rlly falling for all of it too!'<br/>     'Calm down Veneziano thank you for your help' Spain sent, 'Dont fret over it too much for now. You just update me later ok?'<br/>'are u mad?'<br/>      'Muy furioso' Spain continued to type, 'but not at you'<br/>Veneziano breathed a sigh of relief. He hated when people were angry and it was directed towards him.<br/>'what are u going to do??'<br/>      'Portugal may be charming but hes volatile'<br/>'ve?'<br/>      'Ill win over Romano maybe not today but I will somehow'<br/>Veneziano stared at the message. How could he be helpful? It was stressful work but it did feel nice to contribute something… Well, since fratello wouldn't be here for a while, He began to type, 'come over to discuss battle plans? im making tortellini :)'</p><p>Spain had arrived just in time for the pasta to finish. He had twisted the doorknob when he arrived because in all the time he'd known the Italy brothers, Veneziano had the terrible habit of leaving things unlocked. Even when Romano reminds him. That was Veneziano for you.<br/> He was disappointed when he found the habit had not left him and he could just let himself right on in. It was a good thing he came over, him catching the unlocked door would save Veneziano from a scolding later.<br/>            "Big brother Spain?" He heard the Italian call from the kitchen.<br/>            Spain, unable to resist the urge to joke, put on a rough voice and bellowed, "No I'm here to rob you!"<br/>Veneziano screamed bloody murder.</p><p>Elsewhere, Romano was munching away quietly on an appetizer with a furrowed brow. He had forgotten something before he left but he couldn't place what exactly it was. He was supposed to tell Veneziano something before he left. Dammit, it better not have been anything important… He sighed.<br/>The night had barely begun and he was losing his ability to enjoy his night out as his brain chugged along again, worrying about things. He didn't mean to, but now his face was nothing short of displeased.<br/>              "Is everything alright?" Portugal's warm dulcets asked. <br/>It was a nice voice. It was similar to Spain's ever-welcoming tone, and Romano found himself oddly soothed by that. Then quickly a little annoyed by it because it made him think of stupid jerk bastard Spain.<br/>    “It’s fine,” Romano lied, going back to munching for comfort.<br/>    Portugal watched for a moment. “You know it’s fine if it’s not fine right now, Romano. If you want to talk about something you can go right ahead. Not that you have to, but everyone needs to get things out once in a while, y’know?”<br/>    Romano watched him silently for a few moments, before sighing. “I just think I’m forgetting something, it’s stupid,” he said, ignoring that his workload was the largest source of stress in his life currently. <br/>    “I see… I hate when that happens, eh?” He laughed. “I hope it’s not a big deal. I forget things all the time and my boss hates me for it.” He shot him a winning smile, and for a moment, Romano smiled back. <br/>    Portugal was, if anything, very charming. Romano was not used to being charmed, either, so he was particularly vulnerable to his tactics. He just thought there was no reason for anyone to try to charm him before, so now that someone was he felt special. Could you curse a man for feeling special?<br/>    “Ah, see? That’s much better,” Portugal purred as Romano smiled, and Romano felt his face flush.<br/>    “Shut up, bastardo,” Romano looked away, embarrassed.<br/>    “No, no, Romano you look so pretty when you smile, please don’t be upset,” Portugal cooed.<br/>    Romano’s curl started to frazzle and his ears got hot too. “Sh-shut up, idiota. It’s fine.”<br/>    Portugal smiled warmly. “Okay, Romano.” At least he was distracted from being upset.<br/>Romano turned away with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. He felt light like his stomach was full of air despite the garlic bread he had been packing away. The man sitting across from him could do terrible things with a few smooth words and an angelic smile. It wasn't fair when it was paired with devilish features. Him and Spain… Those two brothers were angels delivered straight from hell.<br/>    “What are you thinking about now?” Portugal asked softly.<br/>    ‘Nothing, it’s fine,” Romano said shyly.<br/>    Portugal wouldn’t pry, Romano hated prying. “Okay… I’m glad we could spend some time together today. I’ve really been enjoying my time with you,” Portugal said, and was surprised to find that it was the truth. He had enjoyed spending time with Romano, and he hoped soon he would be able to say his Romano, though he knew he would have to struggle with Spain more for that privilege. <br/>    Romano blinked. “Ah,” he said, resisting the urge to question him by saying “You have?”. He didn’t like the idea of anyone else knowing his insecurities, not even Veneziano. “You haven’t been so bad yourself,” he settled on, his heart pounding still.<br/>    Their entrees came and they dug in, Romano pleased that they had stuck to traditional food. He loved traditional Italian food, and he always would, although traditional Spanish food also had a place in his heart. He didn’t know about Portuguese food, but perhaps if he spent more time with Portugal he would eventually develop a taste for it as well. <br/>              "Mmh, I don't know how, but there hasn't been a single Italian dish I've tried that I've disliked." Portugal chuckled.<br/>               Romano puffed out his chest at that, ever the patriot about his homeland. "That's because there's not a single bad one!" He grinned, looking rather proud, "Obviously."<br/>               "I'll take your word for it, you're the professional. How do you do it though?" Portugal asked, "How does your country keep making only delectable things?"<br/>                "We've got a lot of great agriculture, that's how." Romano pointed out as though it was obvious, though he toned it down a little as he worried getting all confident now would come back to bite him in the ass. "Great farms make great ingredients."<br/>                 "Ah, right. Historically, your half was mostly agricultural."<br/>                 Romano wanted to both shrink in his seat and slap him in the face. That comment made the hairs on the back of his neck stand, out of nerves or anger he wasn't sure, but the way he couldn't tell Portugal's opinion of it left him uneasy. "Yeah, so? Every country has humble beginnings, idiota. What of it?" He felt obligated to defend his country. Well, his half of the country.<br/>                  "I was just thinking about what you said. Good farms make good ingredients." He smiled sweetly, like sap that trapped mosquitos in amber, "No wonder your food has such an excellent reputation."<br/>    “Oh,” Romano said, thinking about it, but his thoughts were tempered by the honey-sweet voice that Portugal had. “Thank you,” he said awkwardly finally. <br/>    Portugal smiled, counting that as a win since he hadn’t gone into a buttface routine. “Of course, Romano. You know this has been really nice, spending time with you, trying Italian cuisine- it’s a dream.”<br/>    Romano took a breath. “Don’t say things you don’t mean, idiota,” he said sharply.<br/>    “Oh, but I do mean them, Romano. I’ve really enjoyed our time." Portugal across the table and lightly touched his hand to Romano's. <br/>      Romano stared. <br/>Portugal's hands were big and calloused just like Spain's were, but they were not quite. The fingers weren't the right size, the callouses weren't in the correct spots and it just lacked the sort of… natural gentleness that Spain's touch had. <br/>Now, Romano felt a little guilty that he was still thinking of Spain and making comparisons. Even though Portugal went through all this trouble of taking him on a night out- Signore knows Romano put him through hell -but it was like getting spaghetti al cacio e pepe when you wanted carbonara. It satisfied your cravings, sure, but so much of what you really want is missing. You feel full afterward, and somehow still empty.<br/>He knew it wasn't fair and he should be grateful for whatever he could get, and yet here he was. </p><p>    Being a picky little brat.</p><p>Portugal internally sighed. <br/>He was losing him again. Spain really left an impression on this guy, huh? He supposed it didn't help that he shared so many similarities with his brother. He needed to separate himself from Spain. He needed to get Romano to stop thinking of him as Spain's little brother, and comparing them every time he does anything nice for Romano. He wasn't one to so easily be demoralized when it came to his pursuits, but he had already been compared to his brother all his life, he didn't want to be compared to him on a date too. It was always 'Why can't you be more like Spain' or 'Oh Spain does this', 'Spain does that'. Spain, Spain, Spain. <br/>It was so hard to have an identity of your own when people only ever thought of you as second fiddle to your brother.<br/>Portugal was sick of living in his brother's shadow.</p><p>               Oh.</p><p>Something had clicked in Portugal's mind. <br/>It was already there before, though now it had finally slid into position, sinking in and locking in place.<br/>They were both in the shadow of their charmingly idiotic brother, and Portugal couldn't help but get the feeling it grinded Romano's gears the same way it did his own. Even if the Italian didn't let it slip he held contempt for Veneziano, surely no one could just take that their whole life without getting at least a little resentful. His own unique identity was shoved off to the side, and instead of being recognized for his own achievements, he was merely categorized as just 'the brother'.<br/>      Just like Portugal.<br/>Sure, maybe there was some projection in there, but maybe this was the one time where it would actually come in handy. He already knew Romano wanted to be recognized, to bring pride to Southern Italy- but now he realized they were in the same boat. All he had to do now was slowly show Romano that, and then they could connect over that. Romano could have someone to confide in.<br/>      Someone he could trust.<br/>    And if he saw Spain in a different light because of that, well, it would only help Portugal more.<br/>    He gently squeezed Romano’s hand, before retracting it, not wanting to try his luck. “This is so nice,” he said finally.<br/>    “Mm,” Romano went back to eating, ignoring the butterflies in his stomach and Portugal as well. He didn’t want to make a fool out of himself over feeling.<br/>    The pair ate their meals in relative silence, Portugal letting Romano have it since he didn’t want to push him. Even if him being flustered would be cute, they weren’t close enough. Portugal wasn't in a position to be taking risks quite yet.<br/>    Once they moved on to dessert, Portugal ordering for the table after discovering what Romano wanted, he tried to strike up a conversation again.<br/>             "I enjoyed everything you've told me in our calls," He began, wearing a face so sweet it competed with the tiramisu, "You're so knowledgeable, especially in regards to Roman history. I take it your grandfather Rome must have had you falling asleep in his lap as you got through thousands of stories, no?"<br/>Portugal waited for Romano to respond, as the Italian had stuffed his face with the sweet treat. As he sat patiently, he took the opportunity to observe him, to learn what Romano looked like when certain things were on his mind. He could see the hesitation in his eyes, the regret of having to correct the sweet scenario Portugal provided. He knew that look. It was just what he wanted to see.<br/>               "Actually…" Romano swallowed, spooning out another scoop of his dessert, "That was more of Veneziano's thing. I heard all the stories from the sidelines. Not that I cared too much to patiently sit through anyway." He lied. <br/>He would've loved to be in Grandpa's lap and told stories until he passed out. Instead, he was left to study the practical parts that made up a country, only checked on by Grandpa if he was searching for Veneziano or wanted to personally give him a lecture on country business. Molto depresso, but that was the truth. He was only ever acknowledged when he was being given responsibility, from then to now, and it was fine.<br/>                "Ah, really?" Portugal propped up his head on the table, tilting it innocently, "I see. Were you independent as a little kid, Romano?"<br/>                Romano puffed out his chest, although how much of a right he had to be proud was debatable. "Si, bastardo. I was doing a lot of things on my own already back when I was a bambino! Like learning how taxes work and that crap- and I didn't even have a teacher. I just read and figured it out." He grinned.<br/>                 "Wow, that"s amazing, Romano. I wish I could say the same," Portugal let out a sheepish chuckle, "I was pretty dependent on mi mama, Iberia. I wasn't terribly good at anything, so I often looked to her for guidance. Kinda sucked for me since she was usually busy fawning over Spain, but what can you do about it, eh?" He shrugged.<br/>                Romano blinked, slowly taking a bite of tiramisu as he took it in. That… felt awfully familiar. "Mi spiace sentirlo. That sucks."<br/>                 "Parents, am I right?" He chuckled, raising his glass. "To be fair, Mama Iberia probably thought I was insufferable. Can't blame her. People told me I was kind of a little shit."<br/>                Clink.<br/>                 "Yeah. You're right." Romano took a sip of his wine, his eyes glued to Portugal now. "... People really think you're insufferable?"<br/>                 Portugal shrugged, a relaxed, open expression spread across his features. "Sometimes people irritate me, so in the end I find myself irritating them. Even If I didn't mean to." He swirled around his drink before sipping, "That probably doesn't make sense, does it?"<br/>    “Look who you’re talking to. I know I have a buttface routine. I know I probably can be really annoying when I’m like that too.” He paused, getting a pained look in his eyes. “I’m real good at pushing people away.”<br/>    Portugal took his hand earnestly. “Well, I’m pretty determined not to let you, Italy.”<br/>    Romano’s breath caught in his throat. “Italy? You know I’m not Veneziano.”<br/>    “You’re just as much of a part of Italy as he is, aren’t you? Why shouldn’t you be called Italy- especially when I talk to you more, right?”<br/>    Romano took a deep breath, rubbing his arm. “Nobody calls me that. I don’t handle external affairs, though,” he justified it, as much as he hated to. He wanted more people to consider calling him Italy over Romano, he just also was wise enough not to get his hopes up.<br/>    “Well, you’re the Italy I talk to. Frankly, the only Italy I’m interested in talking to. I think you’re really special. Do you mind if I call you Italy?” Portugal asked, looking into his eyes with a sheepishness, yet determination. <br/>    Romano blushed. Tonight… tonight was good. “I don’t mind,” he said, just a little bit too fast. <br/>    “Then I guess you’re Italy to me,” Portugal smiled.<br/>    Romano- no, Italy. It felt so good to be called that- like he was important- like he was getting recognized. He took a deep breath to steady his feelings. He almost wanted to cry- but they weren’t nearly that close. Fuck, only Spain and maybe Belgium- and Veneziaano a time or two, had seen him cry- of living people, of course. Romano- Italy. Italy had a bad habit of getting too involved with living people sometimes. <br/>    Portugal saw that far off look in his eyes for a moment. The one that had always preceded him thinking about Spain. His stomach sunk. He hated to think he was thinking about Spain again after how close they had just gotten. But… his face- and he took that deep breath. Maybe he was dealing with some emotions. “Italy?” He asked gently.<br/>    “What?” The Italian’s face snapped to him.<br/>    “Were you thinking of Spain?”<br/>    Romano felt a pang of guilt. “Just briefly. I’ll give you my attention. I’m just very close with Spain is all. Don’t take it personally.”<br/>    “I see… eat your dessert, Veneziano will kill me if I don’t bring you home soon.” He laughed.<br/>    “I don’t know that he’d notice.” Italy laughed too.<br/>    “Why’d you say that?” Portugal asked, taking a bite. <br/>    “He-he’s a ditz,” Italy settled on, burying his emotions of rejection his brother was so good at instilling in him. He finished his tiramisu, Portugal watching him closely.<br/>    “Well, I sure would notice if you were gone,” Portugal said afterward, paying the bill.<br/>    “You don’t have to say that,” Italy said firmly.<br/>    “I mean it, though. I know it hasn’t been long, but I don’t think I’d want to go back to life where I wasn’t talking with you.”<br/>    Italy blushed, taking a deep breath as his curl started to frazzle. He wanted to call Portugal every name under the sun, but he settled on: “Idiota.”<br/>    Portugal just laughed.<br/>    They walked home, and Romano quickly realized what he had forgotten. “That bastardo better have locked the door,” He grumbled under his breath. He gave Veneziano the benefit of the doubt, trying his key. It was actually necessary, and he was relieved as he opened the door.<br/>    That was where the relief stopped, though. He opened the door to find Veneziano and Spain laughing over some dinner, and something in him snapped. They looked over.<br/>    “Romano!” Spain called, happy to see him.<br/>    It felt like a slap to the face- no, a slap would have hurt less. Romano very quietly closed the door, locking it behind him.<br/>    “Fratello?” Veneziano got up, but it was too late.<br/>    Romano grabbed Portugal’s hand. “I’m not gonna stay there tonight,” he said, storming off in a practically random direction as his heart pounded. “I’ll find a hotel.”<br/>    “Why do that when you could just stay at my house?” Portugal asked.<br/>    “Are you offering?” Romano asked.<br/>    “Of course, Italy,” Portugal said, pleased to have the one-up on his brother finally. What an idiot. If they’re jealous of their brother you don’t spend time with their brother, dumbass.<br/>    “Thanks, then,” Romano- no. Italy. Italy said. He still wanted to cry, but he couldn’t let Portugal know that. He couldn't let Portugal know one of his greatest fears finally came into being right when he thought things were finally going his way.</p><p>Of course, Veneziano was winning over Spain. He should've seen it coming.<br/>            There was no reason for Spain to like him.<br/>Italy felt like a fucking idiot for thinking for even a second he could have everything he wanted.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. A Rocky Start Is Better That None</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Spain felt his stomach twist when he saw Romano leave, and he got up. “I’m gonna find him.” He saw that look of pain, he knew he was misinterpreting something.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Right, I’ll come with,” Veneziano said, going to quickly grab a jacket.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The pair set out, Spain reminding Veneziano to lock the door. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Romano?” He called. "I'm sorry for whatever I did that upset you!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>            "Fratello!" Veneziano called as he tagged along. To think he and Spain were just talking about how big brother could help fratello relax despite the heavy load from work just moments ago, and now it seemed like that plan could get chucked into the bin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the pair went after the other two who had disappeared into the night, there was a growing pit in Spain's stomach. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What did he do to upset Romano? What did he say? Were all bets off the table now?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He didn't want to lose him before he even had the chance to be his. He needed to piece together how he wronged Romano and make it right before anything else. It had to be when he greeted him somehow, but he didn't know what. Something threw Romano off, but what?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>              Or…</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Spain stopped in his tracks, bringing Veneziano to a halt next to him.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Who?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared straight ahead, feeling the void in his gut expand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              "Big brother Spain?" Veneziano asked softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              "It's you." Spain's voice was quiet, and he did not look at his companion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>               "V… Ve?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>               "I shouldn't have come to see you." He ran his hands through his hair, "It's because I was spending time with you, Veneziano. Romano must have misinterpreted it, maybe he thought we were having our own date."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                "Oh. Um, well, that's okay!" Veneziano nervously waved his hands around. "I'll just tell fratello it was a misunderstanding, then it'll all be fine."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                 "I hate to say this, Veneziano," Spain sighed. "But do you really think he'll just believe that?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>                  "Of course, he has to!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>                  "And if he doesn't?"</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Th-then… then we’ll make him believe it!” Veneziano said, waving his hands. “It’ll be okay.” But then he remembered when Romano thought that he liked Spain and he felt a lot less confident. He didn’t want to believe him then, either.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“How?” Spain asked, trying not to despair.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Well… what if you do a romantic gesture for him? Something he can’t mistake? Portugal got him flowers.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Mm, yes, but what?” Spain furrowed his brow.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Well… my fratello loves food. Maybe if you made him something it could be nice?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Thanks, Veneziano,” Spain said, still anxious as they continued to walk around, searching for Romano. Maybe he should send Veneziano home? It was already dark out and the approaching rumbles in the sky told him it would start to rain. Oh, the universe had a terrible sense of humor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>          Gracias! Lo odio.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With spirits already low and fading away more and more, Spain kicked at the base of a lamp post and swore under his breath. He should've done something sooner- he shouldn't have kept worrying about how to do things perfectly. He should've just done it. Even if he'd fuck it up a little, would've saved him from fucking up a lot now! He kicked the lamp again, managing to put a dent in it. It hurt, but he was sure it was barely a quarter of the pain he caused Romano- which he didn't even know how he caused it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spain felt like a goddamn fool. He leaned against the lamp post and looked over at Veneziano, who was fretting as the raindrops started to pour down on them. He shouldn't have pulled Veneziano into this from the start. He should've asked someone else, or figured this out by himself, just… Something that didn't get Veneziano involved. He should've known better about what would happen if Romano ever caught them enjoying themselves like they were earlier.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Poor Romano probably was sure he was getting replaced right then and there, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Spain thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I have to make sure he knows he's the only one for me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Spain thought it over, about what to do. First, he'd make him something good, real good. He'd make a practice batch to make sure he gets it right, then he'll cook it for him and pour his heart into his apology. He'd make something Sicilian. Or Neapolitan. He wanted to make sure Romano knew the culture of his half was seen and appreciated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>                 "Big brother Spain, we should probably head back," Veneziano whimpered, hugging himself, "It's starting to really rain down and I'm cold…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                  "Go home, Veneziano. I'll look for him myself." Spain tried to give him a reassuring smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                  Veneziano didn't buy it for a second, but he took it anyway. "R-right. Good luck!" Ever eager to retreat from any difficult situation, he quickly turned heel and ran home without a second thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spain was now left alone in the rain, his clothes soaked and heavy on top of his skin. He refused to go home until he found Romano. Whether or not Romano wanted to see him was something he'd have to face when he got to that point. For now, it was back to trudging along the gloomy, rain-kissed streets of Rome in hopes to find his favorite half of Italy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unbeknownst to Spain, his dear Romano was already halfway to Portugal, accompanied by the country himself- and Portugal was ever so sweet and sympathetic. Romano had never felt his struggles to be so understood before. He nearly wanted to cry. Of course, he didn’t, he could never cry in front of a stranger, but… well, it was nice.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>A rumble of thunder washed over them, and Portugal took off his suit jacket, covering Romano as though it were instinct.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I don’t need your jacket,” Romano said, just as rain began to pour down on them.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“We’ll be home soon, just take it,” Portugal said.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Romano met his eyes. “What about you? I’m fine, I have my own jacket.” He didn’t want Portugal thinking he was weak or anything.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I’ll be fine, Italy. I want you to have it.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Ro-no, Italy sighed. “Take a hot shower or something when we get to your place, okay, idiota?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I will… maybe you should take one too.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I don’t have anything to change into,” Italy said. “Besides, I have two jackets.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You’re still getting wet though. You could change into some of my clothes for the night. I’m guessing you don’t want to sleep in a suit, after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I suppose… or maybe I should just go back.” He didn’t really want to, but he was realizing quickly this might be a hassle for Portugal.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Why? We’re nearly to my place, and it’s getting late.” Portugal tried to stay calm, hoping that if he was nonchalant Italy might stay.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy didn’t think about worrying Veneziano or Spain. He didn’t think that they cared enough about him to be worried, especially when they were likely invested in each other. “I can get a hotel or get over it.” He said, putting on a scoff of a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yeah, but we’re nearly to my place. You may as well just stay the night. It’s no trouble. Besides, I want to show you what a Portuguese breakfast is like.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy gave a slight smile at that. “It better be good then, I’m a picky eater.” He laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>They arrived at Portugal’s, stepping inside. Just as they did so, Spain got the bright idea to try calling Romano on his cell phone. The song “Baby got Back” started playing, and Romano looked at his phone to silence it, knowing immediately who it was.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Portugal raised an eyebrow as Romano declined the call. “What’s that?” He asked, amused. He would have never thought Italy would put that kind of song on his phone.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“A joke,” Romano answered, his cheeks a little hot. “America sent me the song and I thought it was fitting for one of my contacts.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, huh,” Portugal laughed. “I would have never expected, Italy. You’re full of surprises.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I guess.” Italy shrugged, but he was pleased. Portugal had done a nice job of making him feel better tonight. He appreciated it.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Portugal nodded, taking off his shoes. Italy slipped his off too. Then he went to get them each a change of pajamas. He was excited to see what Italy would look like in his clothes. He also got some hotel soaps and shampoos that he had from staying in other countries, particularly Macau’s. He gave them to Italy and led him to the bathroom. He then went to shower himself, which was bliss.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Once he finished he went to look for Italy and found him staring troubledly at his phone. Portugal ignored that look for a moment, silently giving him a hungry once-over with his eyes. Oh yes, he was bigger than Italy, and the clothes were baggy in the most adorable way on him.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You okay?” Portugal asked finally, once he got his looks in.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy jumped. “Fine, just- just one second.” He took a breath, looking over Spain’s desperate messages.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>‘Romano please just tell me where u are’</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>‘Are u ok?’</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>‘Please answer I know u hung up and I know your mad at me’</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>‘Please I want to talk to you’</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>They’d been sent within minutes. Romano bit his lip, texting back. ‘Im safe, we'll talk later. night.’ He then turned off his phone and followed Portugal.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Portugal led him to a guest bedroom, which was a lot nicer than Romano’s hoarding guest bedroom at home. He loved ancient Rome too much sometimes it seemed, so he really wanted to keep a bunch of the historical things he could, that meant in the guest bedroom they went. Besides that, though, the Italy brothers’ house was beautiful and cozy, so Veneziano let him have it so long as it stayed relatively tucked away.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Thanks for letting me stay the night,” Romano said, meeting Portugal’s emerald eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“It’s no trouble at all. I just feel lucky I get to spend more time with you,” Portugal said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy blushed, feeling special once more, but he looked away quickly, his curl frazzling. “Don’t say things you don’t mean, idiota,” he scolded.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“But I do mean them, Italy,” Portugal said, watching his curl frazzle more at being reminded he was Italy to Portugal.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I’m tired,” Italy finally said, hoping to shoo him out.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Portugal smiled slightly, taking his hand for a moment just to kiss it. “I’ll make you breakfast tomorrow. See you in the morning, luz do dia.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy nodded quickly, his heart pounding as he yanked back his hand to be a brat. “A-and stop with the day crap!” He huffed, unsure what the rest of it meant, but he knew dia- and luz in Spanish was light so… He was being… well!</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Portugal laughed. “Alright, sleep well, Italy,” he said smoothly, closing the door behind him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Portugal was about to head to bed himself, a satisfied smirk glued to his face, yet he found himself taking a detour to the kitchen. A celebratory little drink ought to be in order. As he opened up a wine, something from the streets outside caught his eyes. He drew back the curtains and opened the window, filling the room with a chilly evening breeze. It was refreshing as the sight of Spain, soaked from the Italian rain, trudging along the roadside looking pathetic. Would it hurt to bully him just a little more?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                 "Irmão!" He greeted, holding up his full wine glass and wearing a smile that could kill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                  Spain, in turn, gave him the smile of a man who would kill. "Where is Romano, hermanito?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                   "That's no way to greet family," Portugal tsked and took a long sip, "Did Mama never teach you manners?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                    "Did Mama never teach you honor?" Spain snapped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                    That made Portugal chuckle, which only riled him up more. "Oh, Spain, honor isn't something you learn about." He loudly sipped his drink, just to watch the way his brother's fists clenched, "You have to earn it, like how you have to earn the right to Romano."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shit-eating grin Portugal gave him broke the camel's back. Spain stormed up to the window, grabbing him by the shirt and yanking him down to look him in the eye. This time, Portugal wasn't nervous like at the dinner table. He had the goddess of good luck looking out for him, and Romano willingly dressed in his clothes, asleep in his house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had the upper hand here. There was nothing Spain had over him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                    "Going to threaten me again, irmão?" Portugal pouted, tossing his wine at him. Watching his previously light-colored shirt suck up a dark crimson brought a very simple feeling of joy out of him. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Spain growled, searing rage flooding through him. He felt like a volcano that was already erupting. He spat on Portugal to quell his emotions, hoping that a slight victory would keep him from needing to murder his brother. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Portugal laughed, wiping the saliva off of himself. “You’ve really sunk, huh, Spain? I didn’t know you could get that pathetic. Starting out with everything and you’re still managing to lose to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>"Losing- winning- you shut the fuck up!" He tugged at his shirt, nearly pulling Portugal out from the window. "You're treating Romano like he's just a </span>
  <em>
    <span>goddamn game</span>
  </em>
  <span>!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             Portugal placed his hands on the windowsill, steadying himself to make sure he didn't actually fall out during Spain's shit fit. "You have no evidence of that." He looked him in the eye, keeping his tone steady, "Even if I was, which you can't prove, do you think Romano wouldn't notice if even an idiot like you can?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              "You know what he's like, Portugal, and you're preying on him because of it," Spain growled through gritted teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              Portugal raised a very calm eyebrow, "You think he's some swooning, vulnerable fool that needs you to swoop in and save him then?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              "No!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              "It doesn't seem like you respect him any more than how you perceive my respect for him." Portugal jabbed a finger against his chest. "You think he's just some damsel in distress. Say it. Be honest with yourself. You don't really respect him as an independent country."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              "I do- !"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              "In your mind, he's always going to be helpless little Romano, property of the Kingdom of Spain. You don't care about his culture, his individuality- you don't even care to learn his language." Portugal grinned. Now he had Spain by the jugular. "You only care that he's yours and no one else gets to have him."</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Spain shook his head vehemently, almost shocked that he could be interpreted so poorly. “I don’t trust you, Portugal. I really don’t. Not with him. You’re getting too much out of hurting me through him for it to be in his best interests. And I won’t allow it.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Spain, you can’t control who he spends his time with anymore. He’s a big country.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I know that, but I can warn him about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“And I can warn him about you too,” Portugal smirked.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Spain was baffled. “How?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You’ve never been the best brother, Spain.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Spain couldn’t help but feel he was doing pretty well compared to Portugal right now, but of course for Romano to know that he’d have to know of Spain’s affections and how long they had persisted for. Which he wasn’t opposed to telling him, but he didn’t know of that right now. “Because we had a few territorial disputes I wasn’t a good brother?” He asked, frustrated.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You know it was more than that, Spain,” Portugal said darkly. He was beginning to tire of this conversation. Reminders of the past, especially the past with his family, tended to shut him down. Even so, if his pain was one thing he had as an advantage to Romano, it would be worth revisiting it. In moderation, of course.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             "Portugal, hermano, we were both stupid kids back then and you know it." Spain loosened his grip on his shirt, though it was already too late to save the fabric from being crumpled. "Don't act like you haven't done your own fair share of hurt towards me. I've already forgiven you for it." Briefly, his expression softened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              "... What kind of big brother attacks his little brother?" Portugal took Spain's moment of weakness as an opportunity to shove him away. "I can't help but wonder what else you'd be willing to do if you can so easily bring yourself to hurt me. I'm certain Romano would too. And since we've been getting so close, I think he'd be rushing to soothe a kindred spirit rather than the man who's caused all that pain."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>               "You had your alliances, hermano. I had mine."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>               "You think this is just about country business?" Portugal sneered, "How can someone, who takes </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> much pride in the warm sunlight that shines over your home, be so cold, irmão?" He retreated from his window, backing away not as a surrender, rather he didn't want to get soaked by the rain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                "Why do you so badly want to hurt me because of the past?" Spain shouted, his face nothing short of distressed, not helped by his shivering body. "What did I do that was so bad you've resorted to this?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                Portugal pulled his window closed, "May you find yourself catching a terrible cold." He terminated the conversation with the soft click of the window lock.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Spain stared, at a loss for words with his brother. He was angry, furious, but knowing that Portugal still held those grudges was concerning, to say the least. He trudged on home tiredly. Oh well, there was nothing to do about it today. Hopefully, he’d see Romano tomorrow, and everything would end up okay. He just wanted everything to be okay in the end. He didn't want to blow it before he could even get anywhere.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He sighed, locking his door behind him thoughtfully. He took a shower, setting his stained shirt aside to see if he could get the stain out. He wasn’t quick to throw things away. He wasn’t quick to throw people away either. He still cared for Portugal, even though he had hurt him. He was also willing to put in some more effort for Romano’s sake. He wasn’t giving up- and maybe he never would. He hoped he never would. He also hoped he wouldn't end up losing his brother by the end of this. Portugal's antics really got on his nerves sometimes, and while Spain never thought himself to be the type to blow up easily, he knew his brother could bring those moments out of him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Like tonight</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>            ...</span>
  <em>
    <span>Or that other night where he called him a glutton.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p><span>He ran a hand through his hair in between desperate attempts to scrub out the wine. Maybe Spain was approaching all of this wrong</span> <span>from the get-go. He couldn't keep worrying about the hypothetical perfect way to court Romano, he had to just suck it up and be willing to make the unavoidable little mistakes along the way. Unless he wanted a big mistake like this to happen again.</span></p><p>
  <span>             He hung his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today was not a good one. All he could do was try to make tomorrow a better one. Hopefully, Romano would be willing to hear him out, and hopefully, he'd get through to him, and then Romano would grant him the chance to make it up to him. Spain would make him the biggest, nicest Sicilian dinner, paired with a wine from the heart of Southern Italy. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>He also wouldn't be above groveling if that was what Romano needed out of him in order to forgive him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Spain chuckled a little as the idea popped into his head. If there was a big, powerful deity out there looking out for him, then ideally he wouldn't have to get to that point. If Romano seriously wanted it though, Spain doubted he'd deny him. He had a hard time denying Romano anything</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>            And if he was lucky, then maybe Romano would be the same way? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He also doubted, but it was nice to daydream sometimes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He resumed scrubbing away at his shirt, and it seemed the stain was starting to come out just barely. That's what comes out of hard work and persistence! He smiled down at his achievement. It was minor, but it was a start, and that's all he needed.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>If Romano made Spain's go at romancing him a living hell for this, he'd take it anyway, as long as he had a chance.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A rocky start was better than no start at all.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. He was like the Daytime</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Romano awoke, the first thing on his mind was that the bed was not the cozy, Tempurpedic mattress the picky Italian was used to back home. The next thing was that his alarm had not gone off, which scared the shit out of him. That was until his mind finished loading on all the details from last night. From dinner to the conversation during dessert, to the awful scene he saw when he came home. When he was caught up to speed, he pulled the sheets over his head and curled up with a huff. It was all going too well until he caught stupid Spain laughing over stupid dinner with his stupid brother. And they looked so damn happy too! Romano had a nice stupid dinner too, so why wasn't he happy, eh?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>            Spain, that jerk! Getting his hopes up and then...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He grumbled under the comfort of the unfamiliar covers and would've continued to do so had his phone not buzzed after he had turned it on. Oh good. He hoped it was that sunshine asshole so he could take all these complicated feelings he didn't want to feel out on him. He grabbed the phone with all the ferocity of a man aiming for the jugular and unlocked it, disregarding its pleads to be plugged in. Its stupid low battery could wait. He had to give him a piece of his mind </span>
  <em>
    <span>right now- </span>
  </em>
  <span>there was no time to waste.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>            'Hey Romano I just messaged to make sure you slept alright' read one of Spain’s texts, 'And really wanna talk this out with you but I also understand if youre upset so you just respond whenever you feel ready'</span>
</p><p>
  <span>            'I can wait as long as you need'</span>
</p><p>
  <span>            'Im sorry I upset you’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>            'I want to talk to you but again take all the time you need'</span>
</p><p>
  <span>            'Ill wait for you'</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Romano looked over them. God, Spain never learned about punctuation, did he? And he sent so many goddamn texts too, at five in the morning! Spain was so lucky the notifications didn't wake Romano up or else he'd be a whole hell of a lot more upset. No, angry. Angry at Spain. He was angry. Nothing else. … </span>
  <em>
    <span>Right</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>To be frank, Romano didn’t feel comfortable feeling upset generally. Hell, sometimes he didn’t feel comfortable feeling anything but anger. Happiness was nice, but even that was sometimes uncomfortable. He didn’t know why he was so drawn to anger, but perhaps it was just out of habit. That and the old thought that angry men were tough and to be admired. He knew that wasn’t really true anymore, but he still continued to be angry and angry alone. Maybe old dogs couldn’t learn new tricks.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>If that were the case, though, what was he doing? He couldn’t learn to be someone worth having around, could he?</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Portugal knocked on Romano’s door. “Breakfast is ready, Italy,” he greeted, his voice smooth and sweet.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy blinked away his thoughts, getting out of bed. “Alright, coming!” He called, remaking it since he wanted to be polite. He then went to the door, opening it up to see Portugal waiting patiently.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Portugal smiled at Italy warmly. “Bom dia, amanhecer,” he said, offering his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Buongiorno,” he responded, being able to guess he had said good morning, although he didn’t catch exactly what he called him. That being said, it was probably good for Portugal, since he had called him sunrise. He took the hand anyway, a bit shy about it as he looked away. “What did you make me?” He asked, secretly excited to try Portuguese cuisine out. He hoped that it was up to his standards, though, especially since they were high.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Pastel de nata, croissants, there’s sliced ham and cheeses, and some milk coffee. We don’t go all out for breakfasts, but I hope you like the pastel de nata.” He smiled at him, squeezing Italy’s hand.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, okay, what is pastel de nata?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“It’s a Portuguese egg custard tart that has cinnamon on top,” Portugal said. “It’s been on the Great British Bake Off, so it’s probably our most famous pastry.” He sounded proud, and maybe he deserved to be. Italy had no trouble making his food famous, so he didn’t know how hard of a task it was.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Great, let’s hurry and eat,” Italy said.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Got someplace to be?” Portugal asked, raising a brow.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Work, probably.” He’d probably have to stay late, honestly, and he’d probably get there late, but he’d be fine. It wasn’t ideal, but neither Italy brother had troubles walking around their home country, even when it was dark. They were being watched out for.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Ah, isso é péssimo. I wish we could spend more time.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He laughed at that, his cheeks warming. “You aren’t tired of me? It’s fine if you are. I’m pretty tiring, honestly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>I’m real good at pushing people away.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Portugal looked over to Italy, remembering what he had said just last night. “Well, I’m really hard to push away, Italy. And I don’t find you tiring. Now let’s go eat some pastel de nata.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>             "Alright," Italy said softly, looking away. He really wanted Portugal's words to be true. He knew he got on people's nerves, partly on purpose so there'd be no one for him to get attached to in the first place, but lingering around Portugal for all this time has started to get to him. He's really started to want his… Well, Italy wasn't sure what </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly</span>
  </em>
  <span> but he just knew it was something Portugal could give him. And something that he wanted him to give him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brushing off these thoughts, he went to sit at the table and found Portugal had pulled his seat out for him. He was about to huff and complain about how he wasn't a lady, though Portugal was saved from this as the sight of the food distracted him. It smelled nice too. Not that it had anything on good ol' traditional Italian food, let alone the breakfast, but nothing did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except for maybe Italian-American food, only because most Italian immigrants were from Sicily and the rest of the south. He felt a bit of pride which quickly turned into disappointment, as all that immigration meant he wasn't good enough for even his own citizens. They left him for that stupid blond idiot across the ocean.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>          Minchia! He couldn't have a happy thought for two seconds, could he?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Italy grumbled as he got settled, and he feared he'd grumble for the rest of the meal and spoil the morning, but getting that first bite of pastel de nata in his mouth shut it down. Now that was nothing short of a miracle. Again, even the grittiest street food of Italy was leagues above the cuisine of all the other countries. </span>
  <em>
    <span>However</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Italy wouldn't be mad if he had this for breakfast again. He munched away at the rest of it like a glutton, a victim of the same sin as his brother- luckily Romano wasn't quite as dedicated to religion as he used to be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Portugal smiled and watched Romano shamelessly indulge himself in something of Portugal's. It filled his already proud heart with more pride. Who would've thought? He let a soft chuckle as he sipped his coffee, amused by the incredible voracity of the rather small-statured Italian.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             "I take it you like it, Italy?" He beamed. Even after the way it rained yesterday, he still somehow managed to outshine the sun.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy shrugged, keeping a sheepish smile to himself. “I would eat it again,” he said prissily.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Portugal laughed. “I take it that I’m doing well then, I hear you are quite the gourmet.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Mm, yeah, both my brother and I are picky eaters with a refined taste. I don’t see the point in accepting bad food when I know there can be better.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I can understand that,” Portugal agreed, eating with Italy. “Perhaps you got it from your grandpa.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy blinked, looking down as his heart pounded. The thought of inheriting anything but responsibility from Grandpa Rome was one that he craved. He wanted to be more like him, unlike Veneziano. “Maybe,” he said finally.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I suppose I don’t know much about Ancient Rome, though. I’d love it if you’d be my guide.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy nodded thoughtfully. “When I’m free, maybe. You can look things up, too, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I prefer hearing it from you- besides, I don’t know what I can and can’t trust.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Well, learn how to tell if you can trust sources, idiota!” Italy scolded, huffing.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Portugal laughed at that. “I suppose, but… please?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy broke a little inside, sighing. “Okay then,” he gave in. “But don’t ask stupid questions.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I’ll try not to!” Portugal grinned, and for a moment he looked so much like Spain that Italy’s heart caught in his throat and he choked on a piece of pastel de nata. He sipped some coffee to help it go down. Damn.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Portugal rubbed his back gently. “You okay?” He asked.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Fine,” Italy answered, coughing once. “I need to hurry up,” he said, beginning to finish his breakfast faster. He got up once he was finishing, downing the coffee in one go since it wasn’t that hot.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Woah, woah,” Portugal said, surprised. “Do you want me to walk you to work?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“No, I’ll be fine,” Italy said, getting up. “I’m gonna go change back into my clothes,” he said, going to the guest bedroom to do so. Once he changed and set the pajamas on the bed, he came back down, going to leave. “Thanks for the food!” He called.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Be safe, okay?” Portugal said, furrowing his brow as he watched him leave.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy stepped out into the warm sunshine, beginning his walk home.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Romano?” Spain’s voice confronted him when he was walking away from Portugal’s door. "... Can we talk?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Romano stopped in his tracks.        </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>            Romano, not Italy. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He debated on ignoring him and pressing forward with a huff, letting Spain have more time to realize his mistake and feel guilty- but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Spain was a goddamn idiot anyway, so there was no way he could piece it all together himself. All ignoring him now would do is further drive a stake into their relationship. With a sigh, he turned back and looked at him, letting a little pettiness slip by looking at him disdainfully. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah. That'll do it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>  Spain shrunk back a little at his gaze, "Romano, I'm so sorry about upsetting you last night." He glanced down at the ground, fumbling with his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>            "Oh, are you now? You're fucking sorry?" Romano snapped. He didn't mean to so quickly, he really wanted to sort things out, but he was used to always resorting to anger first. He didn't know how not to be angry. He didn't want to blow up so soon. He didn't want to scare Spain away despite how hurt he felt. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Come on now, idiota, you already know I'm just a jerk so pull through</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>            Spain bit the insides of his cheek but firmly stood his ground. Romano was angry, of course, he would be. He hurt him. Which is why he couldn't back down now. "I don't want Veneziano like that, Romano. Please let me explain why I was at your house last night."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             "Incazzato, bastardo- you really pissed me off and ruined my night!" Romano huffed, walking away. There was a pit forming in his stomach until he heard the familiar sound of Spain running to keep up with him. It was relieving, knowing he wouldn't be giving up so soon, even if Romano kept trying to push him away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              "I know I did, and I can't apologize enough for it," Spain said as he quickly moved to catch up to Romano, "I really didn't mean to hurt you, Romano, which is why I want to talk- please, please, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> don't walk away." He clasped his hands together, "I'll grovel if I have to, just let me explain!"</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Groveling?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Romano's sadistic sense of humor appreciated the dedication, if not finding it a little pathetic. His foolish statement caused the ridiculous image of Spain throwing himself to the ground before him in the middle of the busy street to enter his mind. Pfft- he turned his head away, hiding his laugh with a scoff as his imaginary Spain was stepped on by passersby. He turned to face the real Spain, "You're willing to resort to groveling that fast?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>               "If it'll get you to stop and talk to me, I will drop to my knees now in front of the whole street!" Spain declared with complete seriousness. "Why are you trying to walk away from me like this, Romano? Why so fast?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>               "I have work, estupido!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>               "Oh." Spain blinked, looking like more of an idiot than he usually did. "... Does that mean no groveling?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Maybe later,” Romano said, biting back some laughter. “I have to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Can I go with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“It’ll be a fast walk,” Romano said.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“When can I see you, Romanito?” He asked softly, giving him puppy-dog eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Romano sighed. He wished he would be more like Portugal for a second, by calling him Italy, but that was a lot to ask and he knew it. Especially when he probably cared for Veneziano more.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Spain noticed something off in his look, and he knew he was thinking about something he didn’t like. He frowned, ducking his head more so he could catch Romano’s eyes. “Romanito?” He asked softly, but when he did he saw another look of pain. What was he doing wrong?</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What?” He asked, starting to walk. He didn’t have time for this anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What’s wrong?” Spain followed him closely.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What do you mean what’s wrong?” Romano asked, shaking his head. He needed to stop expecting anything from anyone. “Fuck!” He said suddenly, whipping out his phone. He pulled up Veneziano’s contact to call him.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Spain noticed, and waited quietly as he told his brother to feed Bambino. She must miss her papa. She was always very attached to Romano. The only other person she would purr at had been Spain himself, but even that was rare. But with Romano, she purred all the time.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Once the call ended, Spain resumed the conversation. “Why do you look like that when I talk to you, Romanito?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Romano cringed, feeling awkward. “I don't look like anything, it’s fine, nevermind it,” he said, frowning.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“It matters to me, though,” Spain said, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Romano took a breath. It was stupid. He was being spoiled. He didn’t have the right to be spoiled, either. He frowned. “Don’t worry about it-” he began.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I am going to worry about it until you tell me, please, Romano,” Spain pleaded.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>It felt like another slap to hear him call him Romano, and it shouldn’t. He should be used to it. His eyes grew a bit dark as he looked down away from the sun. “It’s just… It’s dumb, I know, but Portugal started calling me Italy. I guess I got spoiled. It doesn’t matter. I know I’m not really Italy to anybody but him anyway, so I shouldn’t expect anything.” He laughed bitterly for a second.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Spain bit his tongue to refrain from saying that he doubted Romano was really Italy to Portugal either. That wouldn’t help, but he knew it was one of his brother’s tricks. Suddenly, he felt the brotherly guilt from last night fade away at the realization. "Ro-" He shook his head, "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Italia</span>
  </em>
  <span>…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             Romano stopped, his mind stuttering just as much as his pace when he heard Spain call him that. With so much </span>
  <em>
    <span>warmth</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It made his heart jump up into his throat. "You don't have to call me that, you bastard- I know it"s stupid, Veneziano deserves it more-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              Spain put his hands on his shoulder, looking Roma- </span>
  <em>
    <span>no, Italy, dammit! -</span>
  </em>
  <span>in the eyes. The Italian's face grew more colored as the moments passed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>               "I- I don't…?" Romano's words faltered, his eyes wandering to avoid the intense look Spain was giving him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>               "You have just as much of a right to be recognized as Italy as your brother, Italia." Despite the fierce passion in his gaze, Spain's words and overall demeanor were gentle. "You've done and you do so much to help keep it going. Don't think for a moment you do not deserve to be acknowledged for it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                Romano's head was now downturned, eyes preoccupied with other matters. "..Spain, let me go." His voice was soft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                "Italia, listen to me- I was only at your house last night because I was talking to Veneziano about how I should ask you out." Spain confessed, "I've been doing this for a while now, seeking his advice. It's because I was so worried I'd mess things up."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                 "Well," Romano instinctively scoffed, "So much for avoiding that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                  Spain let out an embarrassed chuckle, ducking his head. "I know... I see now I should've just grown a pair and taken the risk. I'm sorry, Italy."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                  Romano sighed, eyes still downcast. "You don't have to call me that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                  "No!" Spain shook his head vehemently, "I will call you Italy. I will call you Italy because that is who you are, and that is what you deserve to be recognized as." He squeezed his shoulders, "And I should've been the first person to realize that, so I'm sorry about that too. Please, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> let me make it up to you, Italy."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rom- Italy still hadn't looked up at him. Spain was getting worried. He idly moved in his spot, antsy. He was growing more concerned as Italy took a while to respond. Did he push too far this time? Would this be it? God, he hoped he got through to Italy. He couldn't lose him before he had the chance to have him. In a moment of desperation, he briefly returned to his roots and glanced up at the sky. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God, it's España, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Remember that whole Inquisition business? Can I cash in a favor for that now?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>".</span>
  <em>
    <span>..</span>
  </em>
  <span>Spain. Let me go."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Merda!</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spain panicked, "Italy, wait please don't-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Italy shoved him away, and Spain looked nothing short of a kicked puppy. Oh no, oh no, oh no, he was going to go before they could come to a conclusion. He wasn't going to give him the chance to redeem himself. Spain was going to make it up to him, but now he'd been physically pushed away.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dammit, God was supposed to be on his side!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Fearing he'd never get another shot to make it up to Italy, Spain was ready to beg and plead, and generally make a fool of himself for him, but was quickly stopped by receiving a light smack on the nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              "I have work, idiota!" Italy held up his watch and pointed to it, "If you don't let me leave now, I'm going to be late!" He was huffing, but Spain noticed there was no real anger behind it, other than his usual grumpiness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              "Si, I understand." Spain looked a little dumbfounded, rubbing his nose, "Um, one more thing though?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              "Make it fast then."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              "Are-… Well, things between us. Are we okay- like, are you still mad?" Spain tripped over his words, feeling a bit foolish. "Like what do you- what do you want from me, Italy?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unexpected by either of them, Italy cracked a smile. Well, it was more of a  mischievous smirk, but that was close enough for him. The sight made Spain's stomach feel a little light, and his cheeks warmed as though the sun himself kissed it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              "You said you'd grovel?" Italy raised an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              Spain nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>               "I'm…" Italy met his eyes for a  moment before glancing away, "Still upset, so you better grovel good."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>               Spain's eyes widened before he gave him his bright signature smile. "Si, Italia!"</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy tried to bite back a grin, but he couldn’t, so he looked an idiot as he walked away, shaking his head. “Later,” he called.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He walked to work, feeling lighter. That was two people who were willing to call him Italy, and one who thought that he deserved to be getting the recognition he craved. It was looking to be a good day.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Not only that, but Spain and Veneziano were not supposedly together. Spain claimed to be interested in him. Romano wasn’t sure if he trusted his words, if he was playing the field trying to get him and his brother it would devastate him, but even though he didn’t trust it, Spain saying that soothed some of his concerns.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He’d look into it later. He just had to pray his fratello would be honest with him. Veneziano had said so many nice things about Spain, too. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He frowned slightly. Would Veneziano be loyal to him over Spain? He took a deep breath. He had to try to trust them. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> to trust them. But if they worked together against him, well… he would probably have to close his heart to everyone but Bambino.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He opened the door to his work, getting to his desk and realizing with dismay that his absence had not stopped his boss from piling at least 5 more files on his desk. So much for his good start to the day. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He sighed, beginning to lose himself in his work. He was efficient, and he wouldn’t lie that work did take him out of his thoughts, but it often introduced too many more stressful ones. Like, and this one was plaguing him currently, how was he supposed to get 20 hour-long tasks done in a day? Of course, the answer was to cut corners, but every time he did so he felt he was cheating Italy of security. He didn’t like that he felt he had to do it, but it was better than not doing anything at all or neglecting Bambino so that he could work himself to death. His kitten didn’t deserve that, and… and maybe he didn’t deserve that either. Maybe. After all, work was the only thing he was good for.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He shook his head. He explained some Roman mythology to Portugal, that had to count for something. He also was a good cook, at least if America’s, Veneziano’s, and Spain’s opinion meant anything- that not mentioning the mortals who had the honor of trying his cooking. He didn’t just have to work himself to death. And… Spain would grovel for his attention, and Portugal would initiate and spend money for it. Maybe those two wanted him around for him- at least of the countries. Bambino had already asserted that she wanted her papa as much as she could have him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he had those three. Now he just wondered if his brother liked having him around. Other than to push paper. It was sad to think about, but the few times he turned to Veneziano for love and appreciation, his fratello had given him a less than stellar response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Romano laid his head on his desk with a groan. Only for a moment though, he didn't have the time to waste sulking. He'd wallow in his inability to let himself be happy later when he was off the clock.  For now, more work. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Working nine-to-five, as one of America's musicians once put it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Romano thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh yeah. That was definitely the life of Southern Italy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With much grumbling, he made it through the workday and clocked out, pretty late but nevertheless, he was free from his bureaucratic hell. He gathered his things and headed out, running a hand through his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he exited the building, there he found a sight that made him blink in confusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>               "What are you doing here?" He furrowed his brow at Spain, who was in a rumpled suit and had a briefcase clutched at his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>               "Ah, well," Spain began, sounded already out of breath, "You see, I ran straight here from work, and- and I-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>               "Per l'amor del cielo, </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathe</span>
  </em>
  <span>, idiota!" Romano shook his head, resisting the urge to chuckle at his… Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Spain</span>
  </em>
  <span>-ness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                "Right!" Spain sucked in some air, exhaled, then repeated the process until he wasn't positively gasping for breath. "I just- um, wanted to know, uh, when you wanted me to grovel?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                 "Dios mio." Romano looked away, putting a hand over his mouth to hide the smile on his face. Leave it to that idiot to make his smile after a crappy workday.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                  "You were serious, no?" Spain tilted his head, like a puppy.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Romano bit back laughter. “You would really do it?” He asked incredulously.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Spain nodded passionately. “I would do anything to get your approval back.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You don’t mean that,” Romano said, thinking about horrible things so he didn’t have to get invested in the sweetness of the sentiment.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Maybe not anything, but I would do a lot. I would definitely grovel if you wanted me to,” Spain agreed, knowing that Romano-no, Italy. Italy was right in the end and that going against that truth would push him away even more.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Romano sighed. “I see… you really seem to care,” he whispered the last part thoughtfully. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Of course I do- it’s you, Italy. You mean so much to me.” He met Italy’s warm, amber-colored eyes as he spoke. He was so beautiful.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy blinked,  his face starting to heat up as the words sunk in. “I-Idiota, you don’t have to grovel. I can’t believe you came all this way just for that.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I didn’t want you to stay mad at me,” Spain explained.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy huffed. “I need to go feed Bambino, I don’t have time for this.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Can I come with you?” Spain asked innocently, tilting his head.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy couldn’t help but see him as a pleading puppy when he did that. “Fine, you can come, but it’s getting late,” Romano warned.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“That’s fine. I want to spend just a little bit more time with you,” Spain said, walking with Italy once he began to move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>            "I can't imagine why." Italy looked away, his cheeks warm from Spain's words. He had a way of making him feel so… </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             Spain merely chuckled in response, as if the notion of Italy being anything less than desirable was impossible. Italy's heart was fluttering, threatening to fly out of his chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They walked together in comfortable silence, the sun slowly setting behind them. By the time Italy's home was within their reach, the city had been cloaked in the night, kept ambiently lit by the street lamps lined along the roads. As they slowed their pace when they approached the door, Italy took a moment to look at Spain. The light from the house and the distant lamps surrounded him with a warm glow. The way Spain smiled as he faced him made Italy's brain stutter, unable to handle everything it was processing all at once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>            Goddammit. His heart was caught in his throat. God </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking </span>
  </em>
  <span>dammit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spain could make him want to burst into tears, and grin like a fool, and beat his ass so damn easy. That sunshine idiot had a way of making him feel like the world obviously was stupid for not giving Southern Italy the love it apparently deserved. The love he, Italy Romano, deserved.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>He made it sound like that was just the truth.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Italy never thought himself to be a poet- that talent of making art out of words went to Veneziano, just like everything else- but in that quiet moment, he thought of one thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>             He was like the daytime.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It just made sense. Warm, welcoming. Pulled your ass out of bed whether you liked it or not, but at least made sure you didn't stay there, wallowing forever. Some days were rough, made you wanna sob like a baby. Other days you never wanted to end. That was what Spain was like, and it had Italy thinking about the sun. That bright fiery bastardly ball of light in the sky that people just couldn't live without. Whether you couldn't escape it if you tried, or if it was left unseen by the rain, you bet your ass the sun would always be there no matter what.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              "Italia?" Spain said softly, tilting his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>               Italy met his eyes, not being as quick to avert his gaze this time around. "Mm?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              "Tired?" Spain chuckled, giving his head a light pat that Italy didn't even think of shoving away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>               He nodded, letting out a sigh. "I'll be fine. You staying for dinner or what, stupid?" Italy asked as he felt around for his house key. He doubted he'd need it to unlock the door though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>               "Can I? I don't want to bother you." Spain rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly looking down at his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it, bastardo,” Italy said, but he couldn’t stop himself from smiling as he said it. He walked in after opening the door.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Bambino yowled in excitement, running over and rubbing against his legs. She had missed her papa so much! It had been forever since she last saw him!</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy laughed, picking her up and hugging her, kissing her tiny head a few times. “There, there, Bambino, I’ll get you your food,” he said, slipping off his shoes.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Spain stepped in and closed the door, slipping off his shoes as well. He hung up his briefcase and coat, taking Italy’s coat as well as he took Bambino in one arm and then the other to take it off. She was busy trying to lick his cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“If you’d like, Italy, I can feed Bambino while you start cooking. And then maybe I can help?” Spain offered.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, you know how to do it?” Italy asked.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Si,” Spain nodded. “I’ve seen you do it before.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Okay then,” Italy said, giving her a few more kisses and pets. “I missed you too, my precious bambino,” he whispered to her, nuzzling her.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Spain smiled at the sight, going upstairs to go feed Bambino. Italy walked behind him slowly, giving her affection, but set her down when Spain finished preparing the dish. She initially whined at being separated from her papa again, but once the smell of food got to her nose she began to pig out, hungry since she had been fed late now.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy smiled warmly for a moment, going to wash his hands as she ate. Spain joined him, washing his hands as Italy dried his. The shorter began to take out some ingredients from the fridge selectively.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Veneziano?” Italy called, but there was no response. He shrugged. Guess he would just be making dinner for him and Spain. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What are we having?” Spain asked, secretly thankful that Veneziano was out. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Caponata and a Caprese salad,” Italy responded, pre-heating the oven and washing the vegetables.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Sounds great.” Spain smiled. Italy Romano’s cooking was always a treat.“Say, Italy?” He asked.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What?” He answered, beginning to cube the eggplant.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I was wondering if you’d let me cook you some Sicilian food sometime. Maybe you could come over, and it could be like… well, a date?” Spain gave a shy smile, rubbing the back of his hand as he looked down for a moment. He took a deep breath, though, and tried to meet Italy’s eyes courageously. “I would like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy held his gaze for a moment, his heart beating a little quicker in his chest. He wanted a date with him? He would like it if they had a date? And he would cook Sicilian food? His heart was pounding in his chest, suffocating him with an anxious giddiness. He looked away from Spain’s gaze. “It better be traditional. If I see a lasagna cupcake or anything like that I’m out of there.” He huffed.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Spain laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Italy. Here’s what I was thinking, even.” He grinned. “First, an appetizer of arancini, a main course of pasta alla norma or pasta con le sarde, and finally some cassata for dessert.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy thought about it. “Where would you get the sardines and anchovies for pasta con le sarde?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“We have good ports,” Spain said. “And I’ll get them fresh, not canned.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Okay, then do pasta con le sarde. Veneziano has a baby’s palate and won’t eat sardines, so I don’t get them that often.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Spain laughed at that. “That’s a plan, then,” he said warmly.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy’s breath hitched in his throat  “Here,” he passed him a yellow onion. “Chop this.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Spain blinked. “Por supuesto, Italy,” he said, taking it. He didn’t mind taking the harder job, and he made sure he got some distance between himself and Italy as he started to chop the onion as requested.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The pair cooked in relative silence for a while, and though it was late, it did take about an hour to be completed. Italy Romano was a stickler for eating homemade, fresh food, though, and Spain didn’t mind one bit. He knew it would be delicious, not to mention, it gave him more time with Italy.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>They sat down at the table together, and Italy noticed the flowers Portugal had gotten him just yesterday. Now that he had Spain’s interest, it felt like forever ago. Spain noticed the flowers too, but he pointedly chose to say nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a while of eating in companionable quiet, both parties too smitten with the meal they had made together to talk, the near domestic atmosphere was disturbed by the sound of footsteps coming downstairs. At first, neither party had thought nothing of it, as that solved the mystery of where Veneziano was. When a second, heavier set of footsteps were heard, however, Romano stood up faster than he's ever moved in his life. Spain, not quite catching on right away what was going on, mindlessly followed his Italy's course of action. He was trying to piece it together himself, but quickly found he wouldn't have to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              "You should be heading home now. Fratello should be on his way back soon," Veneziano yawned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>               "Ja, ja. You have a good night, Italy."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>               "Ti amo!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>               "Mm... Ich liebe dich."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Romano stormed out of the kitchen the way a train came barreling down the tracks. Spain followed behind quickly, hoping to prevent a murder as his dear Italian was seeing red. Unsurprisingly, due to Veneziano's overall lack of precaution, he and Germany found themselves on the receiving end of Romano's wrath. The South alternated between scolding his Northern Half and threatening Germany with great efficiency. Spain tried not to laugh as Veneziano clung onto Germany for dear life and begged his fratello to not ban him from the house, which clearly was not working.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once Romano got all the yelling out of his system, the night ended with Veneziano dramatically bawling as his fratello tried his best to drag out the towering German out by the collar, all while Spain stood by and gave his Italy moral support. He didn't want to incur his wrath by insinuating he looked like needed help to move a man twice his own body weight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Romano was </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuming </span>
  </em>
  <span>when finally shoved that blond bastard out the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>            Arriverderci!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He was pissed by this act of betrayal from his brother- </span>
  <em>
    <span>Germany of all people!</span>
  </em>
  <span> -but as the red mist gradually stopped clouding his vision, he supposed he could see this as one of the ups in his rollercoaster of a day- </span>
  <em>
    <span>only because stupid Spain's stupid optimism was starting to rub off on him</span>
  </em>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Veneziano's poor taste in men meant he really did have Spain all to himself.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Like, Love, What's the Difference?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On the morning of that same day, Portugal was blissfully unaware of the heartwarming scene that had the audacity to be played out on the streets of his own turf. As far as he was concerned, he was in the lead. Romano- oh right, Italy- was still upset with Spain for his miscalculation, and, if he measured his pettiness right, would continue to be for a while. More than enough time for him to really start getting somewhere. He needed to make his next date more exciting, and he'd need to make arrangements for a more personalized gift. That way Romano felt special. As he deserved.<br/>
Ah, wait, Italy.<br/>
He'd have to beat that new name for Romano into his head. He'd make sure to shove some time for that into his schedule. Portugal smiled to himself and sipped his morning coffee in an easygoing manner. No need to rush. Spain was still in trouble. Portugal could go about his day with no worries. Well, other than work worries and worrying about future moves on Rom- Italy. He wanted to extra butter him up on their next date, so he was thinking of some sort of special surprise. He had some ideas, but he wanted a second opinion before settling on one. He reached for his phone and made a call, having some time to kill before he had to get to work. He dialed his most abused number and waited patiently, humming quietly as his device rang.<br/>
"You acknowledge we have an eight-hour time difference, yes?" Answered the strained, retail pleasantness that was Macau's voice.<br/>
"Oh, you're busy?" Portugal asked innocently.<br/>
"Mister Portugal, if this is not important, please hang up." Portugal could practically see the practiced business smile on his friend's face. "Wasting my time would be like wasting my money, and if you waste my money I will skin you."<br/>
Portugal laughed, "Okay, amigo. Meet up with me later though?"<br/>
"It's another one of your 'getting into Romano's pants' plans, isn't it?" Macau sighed, "Why can you not bother Mister England or someone else?"<br/>
"It would be weird to talk to England about it, he's my ex." Portugal pouted, only to further annoy his dear friend.<br/>
"Why is it you insist it always be at my house?"<br/>
Portugal had the brain to not make mention of the toiletries and other unmissed objects he liked to take from Macau. "I thought you liked getting money out of me." He laughed<br/>
He did. Macau couldn't deny that. "... If I have to sit through you going on about Romano again, you're gambling with me."<br/>
Portugal made a mental note to settle his finances before then. "Don't worry, I've got a very interesting little incident that happened with Spain to tell you about."<br/>
"Remind me, Mister Portugal, what you are getting out of this whole thing again?"<br/>
“Well, it’s driving Spain mad,” Portugal began, earning a tired scoff from Macau as he silently hoped not all Western families ran like Portugal and Spain’s. He felt it was unfair to assume they did, but he didn’t have much experience with other Western families so he didn’t know if this was common or not. He himself would never dream of intentionally hurting Hong Kong, but then again, he supposed China was a different story. From one owner to the next… Macau sighed.<br/>
“And his company is actually surprisingly good. When he’s not being a prickly brat, that is.” Portugal laughed. “He tells me interesting things. He’s also really cute- especially in my clothes.” He smirked.<br/>
Macau blinked tiredly, rubbing his eyes. Work was draining. He quickly scribbled down in his schedule to squeeze in a power nap. “Wait, what?” He spoke his thoughts aloud without a filter, his mind trying to explain why he was in Portugal’s clothes.<br/>
“Ah, he needed a pair of clothes when he stayed over-”<br/>
“Have you already been intimate?” Macau asked, confused. He didn’t know Romano very well at all, so he had no idea if he would have sex so soon.<br/>
Portugal laughed. I wish, he thought to himself, shaking his head briefly before realizing they were on the phone, not in person. “No, no, Spain was having dinner with his brother when I went to drop him off, he said he wasn’t going to stay the night there, so I offered for him to stay at my place and have some Portuguese breakfast.”<br/>
“You don’t do anything special for breakfast, though,” Macau yawned.<br/>
“We do pastel de nata,” Portugal began. “Anyway, it rained on us, and he was in a suit, so I gave him some comfy clothes to wear as he spent the night.”<br/>
“I see,” Macau said. He rubbed his eyes.<br/>
“Oh. And here’s a new development in the plan- one he likes a lot.”<br/>
“Mm?” Macau hummed, his mood souring a bit to hear Portugal’s excitement. He was tired, and it made him resent Portugal for this even though he was continuing the conversation. He’d have to hang up soon, he was on the clock.<br/>
Portugal heard the dread in his voice, so he made it quick. “I’m calling him Italy now. Spain doesn’t call him that. It makes him feel really good, I can tell,” Portugal answered excitedly.<br/>
Macau sighed. “Okay,” he said, thinking about it lazily. It seemed evil to use someone’s desperation for recognition for a romantic advantage, but he wouldn’t start in on that now. He had no obligation to Romano, he was tired, and he was done with this conversation.<br/>
“Good day, Portugal,” Macau said finally, hanging up the line.<br/>
Portugal sighed. Damn, he would have enjoyed more time talking with his friend about this. It made him feel giddy, powerful, and bad in a good way. Like he was getting away with something. Maybe he was. He didn’t really know what was a bad thing to do in relationships, other than the obvious of beating them and such. If he wanted to get with someone, because it had worked out in the past so well, he often preyed on their insecurities, making them feel better about themselves and him for seeing them how they wanted to be seen. If that was bad, maybe he was getting away with something. If that was the case, well, he always thought bad boys lived more exciting lives.</p><p>No longer having his friend to harass, he got ready for work and went along with his day. At work, his boss was rather surprised to see him sporting such a cheery attitude, and even more so when it carried through most of the day. Speaking of the day, there was nothing very interesting, other than a meeting with some fellow countries in regards to trade deals. The most notable of the bunch was Turkey. That said, Portugal was certain anyone would find Turkey to be the most notable in a speaking situation. The way he talked was very…. particular. It wasn't bad. In fact, it only served to further lift Portugal's spirits.<br/>
His noticeably bright mood was apparently enough to be worth a couple of questions, Portugal noted as Turkey approached him after the meeting.<br/>
"Look at you, man, some-body won the lottery, didn't you?" Turkey asked in his very Turkey way of talking, earning a little chuckle from Portugal.<br/>
"Woke up on the right side of the bed today. That's all." Portugal smiled.<br/>
He didn't have the most history with Turkey, other than a little bit of crusading on his land and some scuffling in Africa back when they were both still Empires. They had a bit of a temporary rivalry back then but were good business partners now, and Portugal thought he ought to be let into the EU. Turkey wasn't half bad to look at either. He had a weirdly attractive dad vibe.<br/>
"Oh yeah? Is it be-cause some-body was already occu-pying the left side?" Turkey let out a hearty laugh.<br/>
Portugal couldn’t help but laugh at that too. I wish, he thought again but reminded himself he just needed to be patient. He would get there in time and Rom-Italy. Italy seemed the type who would run if he was pursued too quickly. Portugal didn’t want him to run.<br/>
“No, no,” He shook his head with a winning smile. “I just had a good night, some good dreams, and a good morning.”<br/>
Turkey nodded thoughtfully. “What made them so good?”<br/>
“The company,” Portugal answered with an innocent smile.<br/>
“You sure some-one, wasn’t occu-pying the left side?”<br/>
Portugal laughed. “No, no, it was just the first date anyway.”<br/>
Turkey shrugged. He had heard that Portugal was a bit of a tomcat, which made him seem like someone who wouldn’t be opposed to sex on the first date, but he could stand to know the man better before he told him he wasn’t buying it. Besides, maybe his partner was the one who had refused his offer.<br/>
He didn’t know, but it didn’t really matter. “I see, you must really like this per-son, huh?” Turkey smiled.<br/>
Portugal blinked. “Yeah- right,” he said, furrowing his brow a little bit. That should have been an easy yes, but even though he genuinely thought Rom-Italy had his charms, something about that question stuck out the wrong way, preventing a smooth answer. He didn’t really know what exactly the problem was, but at that moment, he just wondered what he was doing, because Romano was not someone he felt he “really liked". He smiled anyway, portraying confidence he didn’t have. “I’m really lucky.”<br/>
Turkey clapped his back with a grin. “Well, I’m glad, to hear you’re happy,” He said cheerfully, ignoring the off feeling he had in saying it. He could think about why he didn’t quite feel right or happy for Portugal when he was alone. Right now it was of no importance, but perhaps he shouldn’t drag this on.<br/>
“Thanks,” Portugal said, a bit surprised at how strong he was.<br/>
“Of course.” Turkey nodded. “Anyway, I ought to be head-ing home. It was nice, see-ing you, again,” he said, attempting to be polite, but something about the words he chose stuck with him in an uncomfortable way.<br/>
Portugal nodded. “I should too. I’ll see ya around,” he responded, giving him a laid-back wave before he headed on his way.<br/>
That little interaction stuck with Portugal during the rest of his workday. He couldn't quite place why. He had to have liked Romano- why else would he try so hard to go after him? </p><p>Portugal was not actively plagued by these thoughts for too long, eventually fading into the background as his work took the forefront, but he found he couldn't shake the feeling off entirely. No matter. It would go away on its own time, he figured. When his phone chimed, letting him know that it was time to head home, he collected his things and went on his way. As he walked down the street, he texted away on his phone.<br/>
'Awake, sleeping beauty?' He sent to poor, poor Mr. Macau.<br/>
'In the midst of a mahjong match. Important?'<br/>
'Ooh night shift' he chuckled to himself, 'Am I going to have to gamble and talk at the same time?'<br/>
Macau sent him a thumbs up emote. He was such an impersonal texter.<br/>
'I'll see you later then. Have to have dinner first.'<br/>
'If I may recommend one of the many restaurants at my place?'<br/>
Portugal decided to leave his entrepreneurial companion on seen. He could respect his shameless desire for business, though. That's why he held onto him for as long as he did.<br/>
Portugal whistled as he walked up to his home, searching his pockets for his house key once he reached the door.<br/>
He went inside. He'd gotten changed and whipped himself up a quick meal, letting his thoughts wander the whole time. Well, 'wander' being used only because there was a lack of a better descriptor. His mind would go over the day's events, what he had planned for the future, then keep circling back to his odd reaction to Turkey's simple question. Why was it bugging him so much? It was just a question- and it doesn't matter that much to his pursuit if he doesn't really like Romano. … Right?<br/>
He'd been with people he didn't truly feel for before, his past marriage with England was an example of that. That said, he supposed he'd never been really faced with the question of if he actually liked them. He'd been accused of using people for his own gain many times, so he was used to accusations, though not questions. That must've been it. That had to be why it didn't sit right with him.<br/>
"Porra!" He swore as his bacalhau began to burn. He'd gotten too lost in his thoughts, now his nostrils were being assaulted by the smell of burnt fish. Shouldn't have thought of England while he was trying to make food. "Foda-se…" He grumbled as he pried it off the pan and set it on a plate.<br/>
He sighed, figuring he'd be able to cover up the burnt taste if he paired it with a side.<br/>
After the mishap, Portugal found himself sitting alone at his dining table- as he was used to- now eating his overcooked bacalhau with rice and leftover caldo verde he had reheated. This was about the average night for him when he wasn't finding a lively evening elsewhere. It was quiet, being just himself and his meal. Some might have called it lonely. Portugal didn't care though, because he was certain hundreds of other countries spent their evening meal like this. He wasn't any more lonely than they were. He wouldn't spend the night alone for long anyway, because he'd be seeing Macau soon. That is if Macau wasn't too busy to squeeze him into his schedule. Even if he was, all it would take to get the chance of talking to him was pulling a chair up to the poker table. Or blackjack table. Or mahjong- whatever game of chance his friend was busying himself with that night.<br/>
He sighed, shooting his shot and sending Macau a message. Anything to make dinner less boring, as watching a show with his meal wouldn't really help with the lonely feeling. 'Did you win?'<br/>
'The house always wins.' Macau responded simply. 'That is how casinos generate revenue.'<br/>
'If you know your victory is predetermined, where is the fun in gambling?' Portugal sent, his brows knit together.<br/>
'Where is the fun in losing?'<br/>
Portugal tilted his head, 'Not having a guaranteed win makes it a challenge. The challenge is what makes it fun.'<br/>
'Is that why you are going after Romano?'<br/>
Maybe, Portugal thought to himself, frowning. He was certainly a challenge- learning how he worked was different from most anyone else he had dated. That made it interesting, but he knew that wouldn’t sound good. ‘A challenge is only worth it if the reward is appealing, Macau.’ Portugal sent.<br/>
Romano was appealing, after all. Both the Italy brothers were cute in their own ways. Veneziano was a standard kind of cute- a cute without too much challenge. Romano was a prickly kind of cute that you had to be careful with lest he decides you’re not safe to be around. Much like a stray cat. He was certainly more of a challenge, but he was still appealing. Maybe that was what drew Portugal in. Maybe it didn’t solely lie on the fact that he was challenging his brother with the person he cared about the most.<br/>
Portugal sighed, eating more of his meal.<br/>
‘So he’s a reward? Is he a reward because taking him from Spain would hurt your brother?’ Macau answered.<br/>
Portugal frowned at the screen. He knew that answering yes to either question wouldn’t be acceptable, but he didn’t know what to answer. He… Romano, he wasn’t just an object, he knew that. He had feelings, but in Portugal’s mind, he thought he was making Romano’s mood better, and thus doing something good. He didn’t know if he succeeded how long he wanted their relationship to last, really. He didn’t think he wanted it to last forever, though. Especially if he wanted Portugal all to himself. But that didn’t mean Portugal didn’t want to compete, win, and brighten Romano’s mood for a little while at least. And not every relationship is supposed to last for forever anyway. That wasn’t a crime.<br/>
‘Getting what you want is a reward. I want him.’ Portugal sent finally.<br/>
Macau raised an eyebrow. ‘Why do you want him? What about him is it?’<br/>
‘Well he’s cute and interesting’ Portugal sent, frowning. Both things were true, but he knew they didn’t encompass his true reasons perfectly.<br/>
‘Portugal are you just trying to get back at Spain for something?’ Because if so, Macau thought this might be the pettiest way.<br/>
Portugal frowned. He wouldn’t lie. He did resent Spain for being Mama’s favorite and for taking his attention from him and making Portugal live in his shadow. But surely that wasn’t all this was.<br/>
‘I’ll be on my way to visit soon’ Portugal sent, finishing his meal and cleaning the dishes. He then headed on his way to Macau’s, thinking about Spain and Romano and his reasons for pursuing Southern Italy. There had to be a good reason for it.</p><p>Portugal had dressed himself up in something more fitting for the Macanese nightlife before he left his house. He stepped out into the dark streets, the last bits of warm sunlight already disappearing into the horizon behind him. It was a setting he was all too familiar with.<br/>
Along the way, neighbors, acquaintances, and strangers alike greeted him as he walked. Portugal wasn't quite sure why so many humans felt inclined to greet him almost every time he passed them, but he was not one to turn them away, he liked the interaction. Portugal had to wonder though if the experience was universal to countries, or if he was just especially irresistible. His ego made him favor the second reason.<br/>
Charming Mr. Portugal.<br/>
The thought, as narcissistic as it might've been, pulled him out of his earlier mood slump. In fact, it eased him into a relaxed smile. His mood was better now that he was around people and not moping around by himself. He was just fine. He had to be. Everything was going well. Sure, he had some doubts earlier, but didn't everyone? That was no matter. He was above his doubts. He was on top of his game!<br/>
And he was ahead of Spain.<br/>
He was on his way to having Romano wrapped around his finger, and when he'd finally have it he'd be living the good life. He'd have someone around all the time, so he'd never sink down to his almost self-pitying state of mind again. At least until they'd be over each other. There was no way people, especially near-immortal beings like them, would be able to stay together forever. When that happens though, no worries! He can just do what he always does, start fresh with a new person. It was a simple cycle. He'd probably go through it until he ran out of countries.<br/>
The thought was not as comforting as he wanted it to be.<br/>
Portugal shook his head, hoping to shake off any bad vibes that stubbornly clung to him. It would do nothing, he'd find, as he'd find himself bumping into someone on his way to Macau's.<br/>
"Oof! Sorry there- ah… Hermano?"<br/>
"Irmão." Portugal quickly put on a smile that was just a hint smug.<br/>
Spain rubbed the back of his neck. There was a warm smile on his face. He seemed to be in a very good mood. That wasn't very good for Portugal's mood. "Sorry for bumping into you literally," He chuckled "I'll be more mindful next time, haha!"<br/>
"You're handling Romano being pissed as you pretty well." Portugal smiled sweetly, though there was a growing feeling of dread in his gut that he wasn't so on top of his game as he thought he was. Why did that make him nervous the way it did?<br/>
"Oh yeah, that." Spain's bright smile didn't falter. That only confirmed Portugal's suspicions. "Well, we just had dinner together, so it's safe to say not so mad at me anymore! I still have to cook him up an apology dinner though." He laughed softly.<br/>
What the hell? Portugal wondered as he kept up his polite expression, "Oh. How nice."<br/>
"Haha, yeah." Spain beamed. It was goddamn blinding and Portugal wanted so badly to wipe that stupid look off his stupid face. "... Ah, um… Hey, Portugal, if you have a sec I have some things I wanna say. It's about how I blew up at you-"<br/>
"Oh? You nearly choke me to death twice and you think a little lo siento will make things all better?" Portugal tilted his head up at him, his cheeks beginning to hurt from the way the smiling strained his face.<br/>
"I know I took things too far…" Spain's smile fell, his face like a kicked puppy. Too bad Portugal preferred cats. "That's why I want to try and make amends-"<br/>
"You are so terribly confident you have Romano's heart in the bag, huh?" Portugal's mood was starting to plummet again.<br/>
"... Hermano, give it up. I know you don't actually want Italy for who he is." Spain said softly, "Don't waste either of your time."<br/>
"What makes you think that, eh? What makes you so confident about that?" Now Portugal's smile was starting to fall. "You don't know me. You don't know what I want. Don't act like you're not saying this just so I'll stop winning over Romano."<br/>
"Italy."<br/>
"Same difference."<br/>
"His name is Italy, hermano. Don't just call him that only when it benefits you." Spain sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, "I'm heading home. Hopefully, we can let this be water under the bridge someday?"<br/>
"... I've got places to be." Portugal pushed past him. He kept walking, kept moving forward, didn't stop until he found himself at the entranceway of a casino. </p><p>It was a towering building, but no more imposing than the other casinos competing for the risk-taking slaves to the nightlife. Both inside and outside were sleek and decorated in a way that felt almost regal. Staff were friendly and smiled a smile that knew you'd leave either drained beyond belief or off to lose it all elsewhere. How shameless.<br/>
'I'm here. Where are you?' He sent to Macau.<br/>
'Wait by the door. Someone will fetch you."<br/>
And someone did. A very pretty lady, but not anything out of the ordinary. Portugal had noticed there was a certain extra appeal to their patrons when staff looked unoffending, attractive, and ultimately a little like carbon copies. She was nice, but the artificial sort of nice they're trained to be in order to lull gamblers into a false sense of security- the feeling of 'what's the worst that could happen tonight?'.<br/>
Portugal would've flirted, but he knew he wouldn't get anything out of it and his mood had soured too much for it anyway. That encounter with Spain sucked all his energy from earlier today dry.<br/>
As Portugal stepped into an egregiously decorated room littered with mahjong tables, from the open ones in the middle of the floor to the privately curtained ones that lined the walls, he had a feeling that his energy wouldn't be the only thing that'd be sucked dry tonight. He was brought to a curtained nook, where he found Macau sitting amongst well-dressed business-types. His fellow country had greeted him with smiling eyes, as his mouth was hidden behind his ever fluttering fan. He was welcomed in and sat down next to his friend.<br/>
Macau leaned over, whispering next to his ear, "Chinese tycoons. Here to celebrate some business venture they've collaborated upon. They don't speak a lick of Portuguese, so do feel free to tell me whatever it is you've come to tell me."<br/>
"They aren't going to be suspicious of us whispering at all?" Portugal glanced over at the other players, who were idly chatting in… Mandarin? Cantonese? Whatever, some sort of Chinese. He couldn't tell the difference.<br/>
"Oh no, I told them you're my boy toy." Macau stifled a snicker, "Pretty and hasn't a single clue what's even going on."<br/>
"That's not true, I know you're playing mahjong with richies." Portugal shook his head, letting out just a little chuckle, "But I am pretty."<br/>
"Mhm," Macau hummed rather dismissively, "May I offer you a drink, boy toy?"<br/>
"Depends, sir," Portugal batted his lashes, "Is it coming out of my wallet?"<br/>
"First one's free." Macau pinched his cheek before he turned to a staff member and ordered something in Chinese.<br/>
Portugal didn't ask what. He'd find out when he got it. Alcohol is alcohol and with the twists and turns he's had with his mood so far today, he wasn't feeling very picky.<br/>
Macau moved some pieces around on the table before he turned to Portugal. "So what is it you came to talk my ear off about again?"<br/>
“Well, I think it might’ve changed from when I first set out to talk to you. I don’t know how, but Romano was mad at Spain and he isn’t anymore. And of course, irmão is smug thinking he is leagues better than me because he thinks I don’t care for Romano and should give it up.”<br/>
“Wow,” Macau said, mentally unpacking everything that just hit his ears as his hands skillfully arranged the pieces in front of him. “Why was Romano mad at Spain? I thought the two of them got along quite well."<br/>
“Spain was a fool, as usual. I don’t know where he got the idea to sabotage himself so badly, but of course, it didn’t matter,” Portugal grumbled.<br/>
“How did he sabotage himself?” Macau repeated himself patiently, used to Portugal going off on tangents, especially when he was in a less than perfect mood, which he seemed to be in right now.<br/>
“He was having dinner with Veneziano. I don’t think he knows Veneziano is an easy way to hurt Romano. They were having dinner, though, and Romano saw it and said he wasn’t going to stay at his house that night, so I offered that he stay in my spare room.”<br/>
“I thought Veneziano and Romano got along fairly well, considering Romano’s disposition.”<br/>
“Nope, Veneziano is somebody he lives in the shadow of. You can’t live like that without harboring some resentment. Especially because he was so pleased when I called him Italy. He cares about it, he just pretends he doesn’t.”<br/>
“I see,” Macau said, thanking the waitress as their drinks were served. “Drink up,” he advised, and not only because he wanted Portugal to lose some money at his place. The man seemed like he would need it.<br/>
Portugal chuckled. “I see it’s strong,” he said, gauging from the fruity smell of it. The strongest drinks’ alcohol content was usually hidden behind fruity flavors. He took a generous gulp. It was good at least. “Anyway, I don’t know what Spain did, because he was all chipper and talking about how he had dinner with Romano and was gonna make him an apology dinner and all that crap.”<br/>
Macau took a sip of his drink as he listened. It was weak, he didn’t like to get drunk when he gambled, especially on company time, but he also couldn’t go without any alcohol if he was going to have to listen to Portugal the whole time.<br/>
“Oh, so you’ve realized you’re on equal playing ground again?” Macau asked.<br/>
“I don’t know anymore.” Portugal sighed. It sure didn’t feel even if Spain could do something that stupid and win Romano back without trouble. He took a sip of his drink again, grateful that Macau had gotten him what he wanted, which was alcohol.<br/>
“I see,” Macau noted. He couldn’t say he was too upset by the development, though. He was kind of rooting for Spain since he figured Portugal would just be a heartbreak for Romano and a burnt bridge for Portugal. Goodness knows with the melancholic moods Portugal could lose himself to every now and again, he'd need every bridge he could keep intact.<br/>
"I'm just shocked that Spain could fix things so quick. I really wanna know what he did." Portugal looked deep into the neon vortex of alcohol he swirled around in his hand. "For future reference, of course."<br/>
Macau raised an eyebrow at Portugal as he swiftly ended the game, much to the grumblings of the tycoons who surrounded them. "No offense, but I don't believe whatever technique he used would mesh quite so easily with your brand of charm." He said, pushing up his glasses. Macau had found people to be more forgiving of mistakes when the offender was an honest, earnest idiot. Portugal had his moments, but not enough to fall into the charmingly stupid archetype.<br/>
"You think my brother is more charming than me?" Portugal frowned against the rim of his glass.<br/>
"Your charms are your own just as much as Spain's are his," Macau responded in a simple manner, which Portugal felt a little patronized by. It did not help that Macau added a light tap to his nose at the end.<br/>
"So yes?"<br/>
"You are different individuals with different appeals, Portugal." Macau gently fanned at his face, "Spain can get away with certain things you can't because that's just the sort of charm he has. The inverse also applies. You should also take into account the past he shares with Romano."<br/>
"What if I told you I already have?"<br/>
"Well, then you should've known you wouldn't have stood much of a chance from the start." Macau shook his head, resetting the mahjong pieces before them like second nature. "You'd be better off letting them be instead of going the impulsive path I can already see you trying to formulate. You're risking the permanent loss of two bridges, Mr. Portugal."<br/>
"There's always something to be gained from a loss."<br/>
Macau folded his hands together, resting his head atop them as he looked Portugal in the eyes. "Pray tell, what is there to be gained from the loss of a brother and a potential bed warmer? And I say bed warmer because I cannot help but feel like any feelings of romance you hold for Romano now will prove fleeting."<br/>
At that, Portugal grumbled. His hands fumbled for his wallet as he threw his head, and subsequently the drink, back. He'd need another. It was nice to spend time with and vent to Macau, he was a good friend. The closest he had, actually. He was mature, and responsible, and generally just a good person- albeit one a little obsessed with maximizing profits through his preferred method of gambling. Sometimes he proved callous, though. Like now. He had a point- he always did, dammit- but he could've delivered it in a little nicer.<br/>
"Can I get another of whatever this is?" Portugal gestured to his glass.<br/>
"Certainly, boy toy." Macau gave his knee a squeeze before ordering.<br/>
The rest of the night began to blur after the second drink arrived and was promptly drunk. He knew he probably played a few games. Definitely drank more. Portugal half-recalled losing terribly in a game of Fan Tan before his boozed-up ass was carried up to a VIP suite that devilish Mister Macau practically seduced his helpless drunk self into purchasing.<br/>
Such a good friend, Portugal thought with some level of sarcasm as he laid splayed across a bed way nicer than the one he had at home. The greedy devil himself sat on the ledge, no doubt calculating his bill with a satisfied smile on his face. Portugal turned over to his side to face him, eyes bleary and glazed over with alcoholic haze.<br/>
"I want to find love, Macau." His liquor softened words filled the quiet air of the suite.<br/>
Macau glanced over at his highly inebriated friend. Oh, such a sound that was the honest words of a man filled with liquor. It was like the very concept of a lie had been thrown in a bag and left to drown in a river of booze.  He set aside his things, scooting closer to his companion so he could give him an empathetic pat on the head. "I'm sure you'll find it, Portugal. Not in another person, though, friend."<br/>
Portugal tilted his head at him, sighing at the comforting, albeit patronizing head pat. "Mmwhat?"<br/>
"You'll need to find it in yourself, first." Macau held back a chuckle, "You like yourself, I'm sure- if your confidence is to say anything- but I can't help but feel you don't love yourself."<br/>
"Macau, like, love... Wha's'difference?"<br/>
Macau ran his fingers through Portugal’s well-groomed locks, "Well… I guess one thing is that I don’t think you really accept yourself. You accept what you like, but your flaws you neglect, keen to forget them or ignore them. If you love somebody, even if it’s yourself, you accept them. Love is also a deeper feeling usually, and it’s not as fleeting. I think sometimes you like yourself a lot, but then something happens or you do something and you don’t like yourself anymore for a little while. If you loved yourself it would be consistent.”<br/>
Portugal thought about it, frowning. “Huh…” He said softly. “I don’t know how to change, Macau,” he said softly. “I don’t know what to do… how do I love myself? If that’s what I need to do…” He felt lost, like a little kid almost. He didn’t know anything that he needed to know. He hated feeling like a kid- it reminded him of being helpless and not having what he needed. He hated those memories.<br/>
Macau continued to run his fingers through his hair gently, soothingly. “I think you would be happier if you loved yourself. I’m not an expert, maybe a therapist could help you more, but a good start might be looking at how you talk to yourself. Being nicer to yourself sure helps.” He murmured.<br/>
Portugal nodded, sighing. “Thanks, Macau,” he whispered weakly. He yawned.<br/>
“Of course… Do you want me to stay until you fall asleep?”<br/>
“Yes- please,” Portugal said softly, curling up with the blankets. He fell asleep with Macau petting his hair as he scrolled through his phone, playing some soothing music on it.<br/>
Macau hoped he would remember his advice and take it to heart, but it was hard to predict Portugal’s actions, especially when he was drunk and tired when learning the information he needed. Maybe he’d have to go over it again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. You have my heart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Spain was positively buzzing around his kitchen. It had taken much longer than he wanted it to, what with Italia's busy schedule, but the day finally came for him to cook for him. He was ecstatic. So much so that he had gotten up early today to get his ingredients from the market as fresh as possible. The fish was practically still twitching with life when he bought it- only the best for his Italito! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spain stared blankly ahead as he laid his ingredients out on the counter.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>          Hmm… That didn't have the ring to it as Romanito,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought with a little pout as he cleaned and prepped the sardines. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But! Imagine how happy Italito will be if he hears it!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, the pout quickly disappeared from his face and Spain was chipper again, even whistling as he worked. Italy always put him in a better mood, except when he didn't, but those occasions Spain knew to be few and far between all the times he's made him happy. Italy just had a way of making him feel motivated to do good and do it with a smile. Like making the pasta from scratch! Spain beamed to himself as he made a well of flour on a clean work surface and cracked some eggs into it. He really hoped it would impress Italia, though, at the same time, Spain readied himself for the possibility of being teased for his pasta-making ineptitude. He began to beat the eggs and slowly incorporated the rest of the flour. By the end of the pasta-making process, Spain found his dark-colored apron had been speckled with white powdery flour. Amused by the mess he'd made on himself, he sent Italy a pic of just his flour-stained apron.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          'Im so excited for you to come over italia :)' he sent. 'Dont ask what Im doin you'll find out soon enough jajaja.'</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy blinked. He could only guess what he was doing, but he’d let Spain have it, amused. Spain was always so chipper. ‘Okay lol, I’ll see you soon then?’</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>‘Yeah in a couple of hours’ Spain replied. He would have so much work to do, but that was okay. It would be worth it to see Italito eating his food, especially if Spain succeeded and he enjoyed it. He hoped he brought pride to Southern Italy.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Looking forward to it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Italy thought. He had been more eager to see Spain in recent times, even in competition with Portugal. Nowadays if Spain offered to spend time, he was more prone to blow Portugal off. It didn’t help that Spain was validating his identity in every conversation by calling him Italy. It also didn’t help that they had a lot of history. It wasn’t that he disliked Portugal, it was that he had so little free time and if he had to choose between the two brothers, he was much more excited to see Spain at the end of the day.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>‘See you then’ Italy sent, debating on sending a smiley emoji, but that wasn’t really his style. Besides, he felt the need to pretend he wasn’t too eager- or that he didn’t care too much. He didn’t know why exactly, but he could only guess that part of it was that if he didn’t know he cared too much, he couldn’t use it against him or Italy. He didn’t think Spain would be the type to use Italy’s affection against him, but he didn’t think his grandpa would neglect him- and really, how much could anyone trust the past?</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy sighed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But what would that mean for our relationship?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He thought, his mind adding: </span>
  <em>
    <span>I have to trust him eventually if we’re going to get anywhere, don’t I?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He frowned, petting Bambino who was curled up on his lap. He supposed he could trust her, but he didn’t trust Veneziano and he didn’t trust Spain. Maybe it was because animals were in a different league than humans. Especially Bambino- she was so loyal to him, always making him feel better. He sighed, petting her. But not trusting any humans made it harder, he couldn’t deny that trusting Spain would be a relief in certain ways. He wouldn’t even consider trusting Veneziano though, he doubted if even Germany trusted him.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Spain was cooking, his mind on the simple work over Italy Romano’s worries. He didn’t tend to worry too much, because everything seemed to work out in the end. That being said, lately, he had been worried Italy would fall for Portugal’s tricks. His hermanito could be really impulsive sometimes, and it was made worse by the fact he was pretty good at improvising no matter the situation. Those two things were only exacerbated by Portugal's capacity to get…Petty, for lack of a better word. When he had run into him on the streets that one day, seeing Spain happy really seemed to get to him. He went from being his cool confident self to someone bitter, with a strained smile and forced politeness in his tone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spain knew he had taken things too far. That's why he wanted to make amends, apologize. He didn't want his relationship with his brother to be on eggshells forever because of one little spat between them. Should he have offered to grovel?</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Still can't believe Italia gave him another chance like that</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought, allowing himself a small chuckle. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That was on him for offering it in the first place, though.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He went back to whistling as he worked. He fretted over Portugal in his head a few more times as his mind cycled through thoughts while he cooked, but his brother ended up fading from his thoughts as the time for Italy to arrive drew closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spain clearly had his priorities.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Fratello, how long will you be out for?" Veneziano asked as he watched Romano finish adjusting his outfit. He thought his fratello always dressed pretty sharp, but tonight it seemed he was keen on sharpening his fashion blade. He was dressed in a maroon suit with a pink button-down and a dark green tie. He looked so cool! In fact, Veneziano made a mental note to have a look at his wardrobe after he left. For inspiration. No other reason. He definitely didn't have the balls to steal from his fratello's closet. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Definitely.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>         "Not too long I don't think unless that idiot wants to do something after dinner," Romano answered as he made some minor adjustments in front of the mirror. No such thing as dressing too well. "Do you remember what to do when I leave?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          "Ah…" Veneziano's mind clamored for the right answer, fearing one of fratello's love taps should he get it wrong. "Feed bambino and don't burn the house down?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          "What else?" Romano raised a stern brow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          Veneziano panicked, making nervous hand gestures, "Um… Germany's not allowed in the house?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>           Technically not wrong, but it wasn't the answer Romano was looking for. He sighed, "Lock the damn door."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>           "Oh, right." Veneziano gave him a salute, "Si, capo!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>           "Saints in heaven, help us all…" Romano murmured as he adjusted his hair, wanting to maximize how charming he looked. He had the intention to both be impressed and impress tonight, so he wanted to make sure he looked </span>
  <em>
    <span>good.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>            Veneziano rocked back and forth in his spot on the bed, "Why are you putting so much effort into your looks anyway, fratello?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Why does it matter?” Romano grumbled, perfecting how his tie laid.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Well… I was just curious, I guess. It’s always exciting to hear you’re spending time with people,” Veneziano answered, although he primarily meant it was good to hear he was spending time with Spain. What could he say? He was loyal to him, especially over Portugal.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I see.” Romano frowned. “I spend time with people sometimes,” he said reproachfully, feeling condescended.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, um, I guess,” Veneziano said, not wanting to argue. “Who are you going out with?” He hoped it wasn’t Portugal again.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Spain,” he answered to avoid more questioning.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh,” Veneziano said, trying and failing to hide his excitement.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Romano blushed. “What, it’s like you want me to get with him- are you trying to set me up?” He grumbled, feeling shy.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Um!” Veneziano laughed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh shit, he was getting found out!</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Well you better head out soon, you’ll be late!”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Romano grumbled, not liking that he avoided the question. He’d have to interrogate Veneziano later. He sighed. “Bambino!” He called, his tiny kitten running up to him from her spot sleeping on the bed. He picked her up, kissing her tiny forehead a few times. He loved her so much. “Papa will be back soon, you be a good girl and take care, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>She mewled a squeaky mewl at him in response, since he seemed to like it when she mewled in response to his voice going up in pitch.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He smiled, before setting her back down. “Sleep well, Bambino.” He grabbed his keys and wallet just in case. “Alright, Veneziano. Remember- No. Germany,” he said sternly.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Right!”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“And?” Romano tested.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Lock the door and feed Bambino.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Good.” He patted his younger brother’s head gently. “Ti amo,” he said casually, leaving after he got a “Ti amo,” in response.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He walked to Spain’s, fretting. He hoped he wasn’t overdressed. He hoped he wasn’t reading this wrong. He hoped he was interested in Romano, although he wasn’t sure what he’d be interested in. He took a deep breath when he got to Spain’s door, hoping to calm his nerves. He rang the doorbell.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Spain beamed as he heard the sound. “Coming!” He called, just finishing taking the arancini out of the pan he was frying them in. He took off his apron, hanging it up quickly before he went to the door, an eager grin already on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Italia!” He exclaimed excitedly, as though he were surprised and yet pleased by who it was.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy blushed at the puppy energy, and how he had immediately validated him. “You knew it would be me,” he said sheepishly.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Spain laughed. “Oh I guess, but I was happy to see you!” He grinned. “Come in, I just finished up!” He beamed, ushering Italy inside.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy complied. Oh, it smelled really good. “I see you didn’t burn the house down trying to cook,” he teased, not wanting Spain to know he really was looking forward to this.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Never! I didn’t burn anything!” After all, it had to be perfect. Spain smiled. “I hope it brings your home pride, Italy.” He said.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy blushed. “I- whatever,” he said, his heart pounding. “It better be good,” he grumbled. He was scared that Spain would see how this excited him and use it against him.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Spain chuckled, patting Italy’s head affectionately. He never minded the prickles. That was just how Italy was, and it was kinda cute. "I hope you enjoy the meal, I made it all from scratch, you know."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>            "Not the pasta, I bet." Italy savored the head pat, figuring he'd let it slide just this once. "No offense, but no one but the Italians make good pasta. That's just a fact."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             "And I don't know enough to dispute that!" Spain beamed as he led him to the dining room. "You look very nice tonight, Italia. I feel a little underdressed." He looked away with a sheepish smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Italy gave Spain a look over, just to see if he really was as underdressed as he said. He definitely wasn't all suited up like he was. Spain was dressed in a burgundy sweater with khakis and black shoes. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Santa Maria</span>
  </em>
  <span> did he make simple look so damn good. The way it hugged his muscular build only further complimented his appearance. It wasn't fair, dammit. Italy looked away, eyeing up the house instead of the host.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              "You're fine. It's worse to be overdressed anyway." Italy murmured, concentrating his gaze on the dinnerware that had already been set out on the table. It wasn't particularly interesting, but if he stared at Spain any longer, he'd start blushing before dinner even started and that would be a show of weakness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              Spain tilted his head at that, smiling warmly. "Is it? I didn't know that." He chuckled, pulling out a chair for him. "Maybe you should teach me how to be fashionable sometime. You look like you know a lot, Italito, and I'd really appreciate it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>               "Should earn my forgiveness with dinner first before you start thinking about getting favors." Italy sat down with a little huff to hide the way his words made his heart flutter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>               "Si, you're right. Un momento," Spain said before disappearing into the kitchen. He returned with the arancini and a bottle of Nero d'Avola. So far, so good. "Buon appetito." He'd carefully set the appetizer in front of Italy with a hospitable smile that rivaled that of even the most high-class of hotel doormen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                Italy examined the arancini with a critical gaze. Now, obviously, it wouldn't be fair to compare it to the kind he and his brother could dish out in seconds- they were Italians, after all-so keeping that in mind, Spain didn't do half-bad. In fact, it was actually pretty good looking. He even picked a wine that'd pair well with it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Did the idiota actually do his research? </span>
  </em>
  <span>The thought made Italy's insides fuzzy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                 Spain popped open the wine and cautiously poured some into their glasses, making sure not to spill any. He had even consulted France on how to cleanly pour wine for this. Anything for his Italito. After that was taken care of, he sat across from him, jittery with excitement. He watched Italy, waiting for him to make a move before doing anything with his food.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy cut into it with his fork, taking a bite. It certainly didn’t shame his homeland, and he sighed. It had been a while since he had this, and it was bringing him homely comfort that only Southern Italy would ever be able to provide him. He knew Spain was a good cook, and would only get better if he practiced, too. Of course, he’d be loyal to an Italian chef, but, well, he supposed what he really meant is that he thought Spain would get increasingly good at making Southern Italian food, and if- </span>
  <em>
    <span>if</span>
  </em>
  <span> they got together, it would be a comfort to be able to rely on him to make him some of his favorite foods sometimes.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Spain watched him take the bite, softening as he watched his Italito’s tension start to dissipate. He took his own bite, pleased with how it came out in his opinion. He was sure Italito was being stricter than he was in his head, but at least it wasn’t an assault on the tastebuds. Even so, it might be good to get some feedback. “What do you think?” He asked.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>It tastes like home, for the most part</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Italy thought, looking down with a small smile. “I think it’s good for a first attempt.” He said. “Maybe I can teach you what I do next time.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Spain lit up. Next time- and he’d teach him, so he’d be cooking with him. Spain grinned. “I’d love if you taught me, your food is really special, Italito, and I would love to learn.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy’s cheeks warmed at that, and he took a deep breath. “Oh, okay, well, it’s not a big deal or anything. Just don’t be stupid.” He looked away, surveying Spain’s dining room. He’d seen it before, but Spain usually changed things around a little bit. He looked for differences, spotting a few new pictures of what he assumed was Spain’s country landscape until he noticed a specific building and realized at least one of the photos was of Southern Italian farmland. His heart melted. He didn’t understand it, but he knew he knew wherever that spot was.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Spain nodded eagerly. “Don’t be stupid, got it! I can do that!” He said with undeserved confidence (at least, due to his track record). “Well, I can’t wait to cook with you. Everyone knows you’re one of the best cooks around,” Spain said happily, he only said one of the best cooks because China had thousands of years on Italito, but it was no matter! He was probably the best Italian cook.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy took a deep breath. Spain was so pure sometimes. It made him feel bad about how he treated him and reacted to him, but he didn’t know what to do with all of the happiness and positivity. So he shrunk away, he supposed… and lashed out. It wasn’t fair to Spain. Why did he want him around?</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Are you thinking about work?” Spain asked softly, concerned. He hated to see Italy so troubled. He could only assume it had to be work.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“No, sorry, nevermind it,” Italy said, going back to eating. “We can cook when we’re both free and you feel like it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             Spain nodded, though his concern was not so easily shooed away. "I'm excited to cook with you, Italia, but I want to know what's bothering you…" He said softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             "Don't start testing your luck when the appetizer hasn't even been finished yet, idiota." Italy snapped, and then quickly shrunk back. Dammit. "... It's seriously nothing. Just hoping my stupid brother remembered to lock the door is all."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             "Oh, alright." Span relaxed a little. That sounded about right. Hopefully, he'd be able to make Italy stop worrying during the rest of the night. Get his mind thinking about something else… "Can you guess why I was covered in flour earlier?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>              Italy could take an educated guess. Was it mean to be dreading Spain's attempt at handmade pasta? He was a very good cook, but no one did handmade pasta like the Italiano. "Haven't a single idea what you were up to." He lied, just to see how Spain would react.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              Spain lit up, idly moving around in his seat with a bouncy energy. "Ooh, you'll see soon then, Italito." He grinned at him before taking a slow sip of wine. Italy pointedly ignored the way Spain licked his lips when a few drops tried to escape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>               "You seem very proud of whatever it is." Italy failed to fight off the urge to smile. Spain's good vibes were so damn contagious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>                "I am! I got a little experimental, so," His bright expression softened into sheepishness, "I really hope you like it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              That pretty sunshine bastard. He made Italy's heart skip beats. "Getting experimental on the night of a very important dinner? How bold." He didn't mean to sound like a jerk, it's just what he defaulted to every time someone made his legs jelly. Maybe that's why he was so mean to Spain all the time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>               "Well, last time I avoided risks, it kinda backfired on me, so I'm taking the opposite approach now in hopes that it works!" Spain chuckled. It made the room feel warm like it was bathed in golden Spanish sunlight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                "Alright. You're not doing half-bad so far." Italy looked down at his plate, the corners of his mouth curled up into a little smile. He wasn't used to smiling unless it was around girls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The arancini was finished off and Spain took their plates, disappearing into the kitchen once more. The aroma of pasta con le sarde took over the room, and Italy had to admit, he was impressed. The pasta looked… Well, good. Now, the real test was how it tasted, and if it was cooled to al dente. Nothing worse than pasta that was over or undercooked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                "Buon appetito!" Spain said again as he set the pasta before him and refilled his glass. Italy felt a little bit like royalty, being served like this. It was actually pretty nice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                 "We'll just have to see how you did," Italy said as he twirled some around his fork.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Si! I hope you enjoy it!” Spain beamed at Italy, feeling warm but still nervous.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy couldn’t help but smile at his energy. He took a bite. The fish was really well prepared, and he was surprised to find that the pasta was well done as well, at least, for a non-Italian’s first attempt. It was more than edible, so it exceeded his expectations.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Spain,” he addressed his anxious companion.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Si, Italia?” He asked, leaning closer.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I have to teach you to make proper fresh pasta, but it’s… it’s actually good. The fish is near perfect. It looks like you really researched it.” He took a chance, kissing Spain’s cheek gently. He couldn’t help but appreciate that he had put so much effort into food from his home.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Spain’s cheeks blossomed with warmth as Italito’s soft lips pressed against the cheek nearest to him. His heart was pounding, but he grinned. He wanted to cheer. He was doing it! Italy was happy with the effort he put in, and he seemed like he might be opening up to trusting him again a lot faster than Spain had even expected! He was so excited to have this opportunity, and now he felt like it was going well!</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Thank you, Italy,” Spain began, the excitement in his voice almost creating a buzz as he spat the words out. He sat down with him, squeezing his lower arm gently. He didn’t want to hurt him, just create a comforting atmosphere. “I’m so glad that you like it. It is all for you, after all.” He chuckled.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy found himself smiling again. It was strange, Spain seemed to have a real talent in making his miserable ass smile, but he couldn’t say it offended him or made him uncomfortable. It was just the fact Spain knew exactly what to say and do (most the time), Italy trusted him, and… Italy knew Spain genuinely cared about him. The last thought made his own cheeks pink, so he looked away shyly.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You should try it,” Italy said finally, going back to his food.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Spain did so, letting them eat in silence for a good chunk of the meal. It was so tasty it was hard to want to divert attention away from the masterpiece of a recipe. Southern Italy’s recipes were genuinely heavenly, and though Spain was loyal to his homeland, at times he felt very conflicted on whose food was actually better at the end of the day. Southern Italy was so talented.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Eventually, however, Spain began to speak, not wanting them to eat in complete silence. “I went and got the fish fresh today, and I made the pasta fresh too! I think it was worth the effort.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Mm,” Italy nodded, chewing still. He swallowed once it was not gonna kill him to. “Well, I should hope so. You wouldn’t want to disgrace my recipes while you’re apologizing.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Spain laughed at that, shaking his head. “No, I wouldn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You didn’t have to make fresh pasta though,” Italy began, explaining, “Dried pasta can actually work just fine for certain things, and it’s certainly easier for a non-Italian to handle.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, really?” Spain asked, smiling. “That’s good to know. But I want to get good at making pasta since you and your brother tend to make it fresh, y’know? Besides, I thought it would be a good way to put in a little more effort,” Spain said, leaving out an “and maybe impress you.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span> "I suppose I'll give you plus points for the effort." Italy propped his head upon the table, a small smile playing on his lips. "You know, risky move making fresh pasta for an Italian you're trying to apologize to. We take our food seriously, you know? The dry stuff would've been the safer choice."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              "Safer, sure, but I feel like there's more heart in a meal made entirely from scratch. I think that alone is entirely worth the risk." Spain said in a voice like the sunrise. Warm, mesmerizing, so simple, and yet so comforting. Italy's heart was beating faster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>               "You're right. There is more heart." He responded in a bit of a daze, watching Spain so carefully twirl himself a forkful of pasta. It wasn't going very smoothly and that, Italy found, had an odd charm to it the same way he found an odd charm to a lot of Spain's ways. His eccentric shenanigans had a way of soothing even the grumpiest of souls. "Is this your way of trying to serve yours to me on a platter?" Italy had tried to joke. It came out soft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                "Ah," Spain chuckled, staring down at his plate sheepishly, "If… I am?" He said slowly, turning his gaze up to meet Italia's at an equally shy pace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                 Italy blinked as he found himself looking deep into Spain's homely green eyes. They were so kind. So happy. So earnest. There wasn't a single thought going on behind them, except whatever it was that made Spain look so happy all the damn time. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That idiot…</span>
  </em>
  <span> He was embarrassing to be around, what with his carefree attitude and endless optimism, but what was more embarrassing was that Italy found himself </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanting</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be around him. Like now. With Spain's hand finding its way gently rested on his forearm, and their eyes locked together, as they sat across from each other having dinner together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Italy was enjoying himself. It made him blush just thinking about it, and he was blushing more from what Spain had just asked him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>                 "Why would you do that though?" Italy finally settled on as a response, feeling his heart trying to go on a rampage in his chest cavity. He averted his gaze back to his meal, </span>
  <em>
    <span>which had been made with him in mind.</span>
  </em>
  <span> That did not help his quickened pulse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>                 "Italito." Spain gently squeezed him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                 Italy looked back up but tried to avoid directly looking into his eyes. "What, idiota?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                  "I've spent too long waiting for the right moment to give my heart to you, you know?" Spain smiled so sheepishly Italy was convinced he'd find wool on him. "I figured, maybe it'd make a good apology offering, yeah? I, mmh…" He looked down, a nice successful forkful of pasta finally twirled onto his utensil. "I just want to make you happy, Italito. Impress you a little on the way too. I know I'm not terribly bright, so I probably don't make the most interesting conversations or wisest choices- so I have to make up for it in different ways."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                  "Spain…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                  "I know I'm an idiot, Italito, but I'm an idiot who's had it bad for longer than I can count- which probably isn't saying much knowing me, but just trust me that it's a long time." He laughed, "I tried to be smart and go the safe route, and that didn't work out. You know what did though? Me just being my honest, stupid self. Offering to grovel and all. So I'm taking that route again."</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy watched him, his heart pounding. “You… you actually want me?” He asked, shocked that someone who was so kind and happy and humorous and hardworking could want him. He was just hardworking of those traits, and he didn’t think he had many redeeming ones beyond that. Fuck, earlier he was thinking how could Spain even enjoy spending time with him! Let alone wanting Italy for himself.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I do want you, Italia,” Spain said softly, holding his gaze as he spoke from his heart. “You’re amazing, you’re so hardworking and smart and passionate. You keep me on my toes and you’re so caring. You put yourself through so much for others- like that time you helped me with my civil war. And the way you take on practically all your country’s duties so Veneziano doesn’t have to struggle. Not to mention the things I’m sure you’d do for Bambino.” Spain laughed. “Although, as much as I like that about you, I wish you wouldn’t take on quite so much. I know you struggle with what you’re doing sometimes, and it’s not fair you should carry these burdens on your own when you could share the weight with the person you’re protecting, y’know?” He gently squeezed Italy’s forearm once more.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy sucked in a breath, staring at him in shock. “It’s- I’m just helping people who are important to me, everybody does that. And I’m fine. I just-” He paused. “I didn’t expect you to want me. Sometimes I feel there’s so much bad in me that the good could never be worth it, y’know?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Italia, I don’t think you see enough good in yourself or the world, but that’s okay. I’ll show it to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy looked at him dubiously. “That’s not your responsibility. You shouldn’t have to fix me being pessimistic and broken.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You’re not broken. Besides, it’s my privilege to.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy met his eyes, sighing. “Are you sure you want that job?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“So long as it means I can spend more time with you, I’d love that job.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Only if you come to my place, Bambino will get lonely if I’m gone too much.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Spain couldn’t help but smile. There was that caring side again. “Of course… Italia?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You never answered about taking my heart. I want you to have my heart- and, if you trust me, I’d like to have yours too. But I understand if I won’t have yours for a while or anything like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy blushed, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves. “Well…” How did he feel, truly? He- Spain was- Well... He did care for him in that way, and he did trust him to not hurt him. Italy didn’t even think of Portugal when he answered. “I trust you, you have my heart.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Spain beamed, smiling that happy smile. “Oh, really?” He asked, taking his hand. “I promise you, you won’t regret it!” He took Italy’s hand, kissing it gently before squeezing it. “I’m so happy, Italito, you’re so precious to me and I’ve wanted you for so long. This- this is just amazing.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy’s curl began to frazzle as he grew flustered at the overload of affection. “I- it’s not a big deal, I’m the one who should be thinking I’m lucky or whatever, Spain,” he said, looking away to try to avoid feeling too much and embarrassing himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>            Spain laughed. It wasn't at all teasing like Italy initially worried it would be. It was a laugh of genuine happiness, and Spain was radiating it in waves. It was pretty deadly too. Italy just </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> he looked like a tomato at that moment. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That bastardo- jerk- idiot! Making him so flustered!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>              "Just- er," Italy shook his head, "Don't get ahead of yourself, idiota, okay? This is just an apology dinner- you haven't taken me on a real date yet!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              "The keyword is yet." Spain gave him a playful little wink, getting his face pushed away by a tomato red Italito. Spain couldn't be happier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              "See? You're getting cocky already, you bastard! I should have never agreed to this!" Behind his huffing, Southern Italy couldn't have been happier himself. That damn Spain, he just knew him so well, and he cared so much. And, well, it helped that Spain was so handsome too. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And Italy could have that all to himself.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>               Spain beamed, carefully removing Italy's hand from his face and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Italito," He began in a voice like honey, "After this course, let's talk about what we wanna do for our date over dessert. I wanna know what you'd like to do- I'll enjoy myself as long as you do." And he smiled that killer smile. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Signore, help us all.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>        "W- why don't we just discuss now?" Italy asked, still a little in a daze from the emotional whirlwind that'd been this dinner</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                Spain ducked his head shyly, eyes looking off to the side, "I don't think it's charming if I'm talking to you about date stuff with fish breath." He murmured, face warm with embarrassment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                 Itay paused, "... Idiota, I'm eating the same damn thing as you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                  Spain blinked, "And?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                  "Does it smell like a sardine when I talk?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>                  "No," Spain answered honestly. "What are you trying to tell me, Italito?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was at that moment it had hit Southern Italy that he was head over heels for an absolute idiot. A total moron. An utter fool. A dense, oblivious, ditzy dumbass who smiled with warmth like the summertime and entranced him like a sunset. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>dammit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Italy found himself smiling wide.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Then if we ate the same thing, it should smell the same for both of us. I don’t smell the sardines on you,” Italy explained.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Spain took a moment to think before his face lit up. “Oh! I don’t smell bad? That’s good.” He beamed at Italia.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yeah, guess so,” Italy said with a smile. He really was so cute. Of course, he was, though. He was an amazing person.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Do you want to talk about it now, then?” Spain asked, tilting his head like a puppy.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy couldn’t help but smile. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The pair conversed about plans, and in all honesty, Italy was not opposed to another dinner date, maybe with them cooking together, and perhaps a nice walk around some historical landmarks. If they made the food at Spain’s, they could have churros for dessert and a walk down memory lane for Italy, while if they made the food at Italy’s the food would be to his preference and they could walk around old Roman landmarks. Whichever place they had gone to previously to cook and reminisce, they could go to the other the next time. It would work out. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>This all would work out. After all, if they had each other and they were a good team who cared for one another, how could it not?</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Daytime never felt better</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So this is the last main chapter of this fic, but we will be dropping an epilogue about Portugal on this fic sometime soon. The epilogue will be an introduction to our spinoff series, so Portugal fans there will be more content with him, although it is with a ship that is underappreciated. Hope you all enjoy it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Portugal was scheming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Macau watched him drum his fingers on the table as he took a sip of his coffee. Now, Macau knew he'd get his ears talked off about Portugal's masterful last-ditch plan soon enough, but he simply sat and waited. He was just relieved they were at Portugal's house for once. Macau preferred the drinks served back at home, but Portugal could make a pretty good brew. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sip~...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>           "Why can't you let them simply have their date and be happy?" Macau tilted his head, running his thumb over the rim of his mug. "This isn't going to help you love yourself." He added on softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>            "Don't start with me, Macau. The game isn't over yet." Portugal sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I can still turn the tables on Spain. A hail Mary. A last gamble. You love a good gamble, don't you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             "Not when there is nothing to win." Macau frowned, propping his head up on the table. "Besides, what is there really to do to turn the tables?"</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I can charm him still, I’m not nothing- I’m not powerless.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I never said you were,” Macau said with a slight frown. “Portugal, even if you don’t succeed in this that doesn’t make you anything less. You’re learning still.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Macau, I want to win.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You’re treating him like a prize, not a person,” Macau scolded, sipping his drink.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“So what, you’re on Spain’s side?” Portugal exclaimed in anger.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Portugal, I don’t see any good for you that could come of this.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I don’t see any bad!” Portugal huffed.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Portugal, treating people like things is always going to be bad, just like playing with hearts. It’s not right to try to get with someone just to get revenge on another. You should be with them because you love them.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh whatever, Macau.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Once you love yourself, maybe you’ll be able to love others properly, in a healthy way. And maybe you’ll be able to get along with Spain.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Portugal scoffed, sipping his coffee in annoyance. “Why should I get along with my brother? It’s not a big deal. You don’t get along with China.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>            "But I do not go out of my way to antagonize him either. And I especially do not try and interfere with his love life." Macau took off his glasses and wiped the lenses. "Say you do manage to turn things around, what then? You risk cutting ties with your brother and, while you might win Romano, inevitably his feelings for you will only prove temporary."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             "All feelings are temporary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             "That's a terribly unfortunate way to view relationships." Macau put his glasses back on and met Portugal's displeased gaze, "Xīngxīng zhī huǒ, kěyǐ liáoyuan, Portugal." He reached over and gave his forearm a squeeze, "A star's light shines far. Any impulsive action you take now will have its consequences in the future."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              Portugal got up from his seat and shoved his hand away. He fumed in silence as Macau tried to gently sway him towards reason. He didn't want reason. He wanted help. He wanted a way to win this game with his brother. He wasn't going to accept this loss. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He didn't want to lose to Spain again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>              "Portugal-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              "Macau, either help me win or leave me alone. I didn't invite you here to lecture me." Portugal snapped at him. He was already in a bad mood. He had the tendency to succumb to them when things did not go his way. Macau's scolding was only making it worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              "I didn't come here to make war plans." Macau stood up, finishing off his coffee with a frustrating level of dignitude before carefully setting it down on the table. "I want to help you Portugal, but not like this. You can do better."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>            "And I will do better. Better than irmão. You can help me do that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>            "Portugal," Macau's tone came like that of a stern parent. It nearly made Portugal flinch. "I'm not helping you hurt yourself."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              "I'm not hurting myself."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             "Maybe not directly, but in the end, if this is the path you choose, this is all going to come crashing down on you." Macau pushed his chair back in and straightened up his attire, "Come now, it's not too late for us to find you a new pursuit. Please think about this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              "I did think about it, dammit! And I've already made my choice so I don't know why you think you can guilt me into changing it!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Macau was about to open his mouth again, with the hope that maybe if he gave things just one more go he could actually reach the common sense that lingered in the depths of Portugal's mind, but it was interrupted by the sound of his troubled friend's buzzing phone. Portugal turned to it, checking what it had notified him of. Another message from Spain. His brother had been trying to reach out to him for the past few days- but Portugal hadn't opened a single one. That proud bastard was probably updating him about the situation between him and his </span>
  <em>
    <span>beloved</span>
  </em>
  <span> Romano. Spain could never shut up about him before, so why would he stop now? The thing that ground on Portugal's gears the most was that that peppy moron probably didn't even see a single thing wrong with what he was doing. He probably had the </span>
  <em>
    <span>audacity</span>
  </em>
  <span> to think Portugal would be happy for him stealing another goddamn thing from him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stupid irmão</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             "It's not too late." Macau's gentle, patient tone ground against Portugal's mood.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Portugal glared at Macau, his heart trembling with anger. “I don’t care what you think if it’s too late or not, I don’t want to go with your plan, Macau. Let me fucking live how I want to live!” He began to pace, emotions whipping through him and making him susceptible to moving in hopes to quell them just a bit. It wasn’t working very well.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Macau frowned. Perhaps his friend was beyond helping right now. “Just… remember that this will have consequences,” he said softly, getting up and leaving. He didn’t come to be yelled at, and so he wouldn’t take that kind of treatment. Even so, he hoped Portugal retained a modicum of sense from their conversation and didn’t go through with what he was planning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>Macau’s hopes were in vain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>Portugal stood in front of the Italy brother’s door, heart pounding. He was dressed nicely, in a classic black suit and red tie, his hair tied back with a red ribbon. He remembered Romano preferred classical, traditional things, and hoped his taste in fashion would apply. He took a deep breath, knocking. He waved to the camera again with a cheerful but forced smile.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Southern Italy looked at the camera, furrowing his brow. What did Portugal want? Especially dressed like that? He groaned. It better not be a surprise date. He was planning on staying committed to Spain. Even so, Italy approached the door, opening it to the man. He wasn’t a threat, and if it was a date he ought to clear things up rather than ignore him.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Italy,” Portugal smiled at him kindly. “How are you today?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What’s this about?” Italy asked, peering up at him suspiciously as he ignored the pleasantries.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh,” Portugal said, taken aback by his blatant disregard for his greeting. “I just thought since you’ve been ignoring my texts I’d try and come over to pry you away from work for a bit.” He chuckled.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy frowned. “Thanks, but I’m not interested in going on a date if that’s what you mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“And why not?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I’m seeing Spain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>            "Ah." Portugal's face held a patient smile, but his insides were full of fire. From anger or indignation, he couldn't tell, but whichever one it was, it didn't sit well in his stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             "Sorry, but I figured you'd get it." Italy shrugged, leaning against the wall. "We can hang out if you really want, but none of that dia crap you gave me, alright?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             "Dia crap?" Portugal asked, tilting his head. "I'm sorry?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             Italy blinked. Dammit, he was being an asshole again. The time he had been spending with Spain had made Italy more aware of how much of a jerk he could be. "Well, the thing is- it's pretty exaggerated, yeah? Like you're just saying it to… Get a reaction out of me." He shrugged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              He was. He was because getting those reactions meant Portugal was getting closer to getting what he wanted. Portugal just couldn't simply admit to that, though. "Romano, I meant all those things I said."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              Ita- Romano- </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Italy furrowed his brows at that. So much for being recognized as Italy then, huh? He wondered if that was just a ploy to get a reaction too. The thought hurt, and anger boiled in his gut over the fact it was probably true. He pushed past it anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I don’t think you did, Portugal. I think if you really did mean it you would be calling me Italy, and I think you like to say a lot of stuff to charm people.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Vulnerable people especially</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Italy thought with a frown. Not that he liked to admit he was vulnerable, but… well… he wasn’t exactly the most well-adjusted person, and he had been very lonely before. Sometimes he still was lonely, but now he was fulfilled enough socially that he could see Portugal’s tricks.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>A porcaria</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Portugal swore in his mind. This already wasn’t going well. “Italy-”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“No, I don’t want to hear that from you if you don’t mean it,” Rom-Italy said with a frown. He didn’t want to deny himself of this, but it was out of principle. He didn’t want to let Portugal use any more tricks on him. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> let Portugal use any tricks on him and get away with it.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“How do you know I don’t mean it?” Portugal frowned.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Because you didn’t say it before. And you didn’t mean it when you called me dia or any of that. I am seeing patterns, Portugal, and I’m done with them. I’m done with the games. I’m not your next conquest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             "You don't know what you're talking about." Portugal kept himself calm. So far, it seemed Fortuna had abandoned him, not a single lucky break so far. That didn't help his mood in the slightest. "I really do care about you. I called you all the things I called you because I meant them. I spent all that time with you, didn't I? Invited you out, had those long calls with you-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              "Do you want a goddamn medal for spending time with me or something?" Italy crossed his arms. "Look, I wanted to let you down easy but if you want to make things difficult, I'm not a patient person, bastardo."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>            "I'm not looking for a medal, I just wanted to show you that I cared-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>            "If you really care so much about me, you'd suck it up that I'm not interested in dating you and leave it be!" Italy snapped his curl a little frazzled in annoyance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             "Didn't Spain hurt you? Why give him the chance to do it again?" Portugal took a step forward and he heard a hiss. He looked down to see Romano's unattractive little skin kitten hissing from behind her master's heel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             "He made it up to me," Italy answered curtly, ignoring the second question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>              "My brother isn't all he's chocked up to be," Portugal said in a warning tone. "You don't know him like I do, Italy. He can be selfish, too wrapped up in his own little world to care about others- oh, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>vicious</span>
  </em>
  <span> when he doesn't get what he wants. You should see how relentless he can get when it comes to what he considers his territory. Are you sure you really want to be with that?"</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What do you mean about territory?” Italy narrowed his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, don’t be so naive, Italy,” Portugal began, but Italy’s blood was already boiling, his face flushing with anger.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Don’t call me that.” He interjected.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Portugal ignored that. “He probably just misses when you were his colony, so if he can make you his territory another way, he’ll take it by invading your mind instead.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“That’s a big assumption.” Italy scowled. “And so far you’re the only one who’s brought up territory. Is that what you see me as?” His hope was ever diminishing with regards to Portugal seeing him as a person over some kind of object (frankly, he didn’t care if it was a territory, a conquest, a prize, either way, it wasn’t a person and he was angry about it).</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You want me to call you Romano, Italy? Is that what you want again?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy set his jaw, his hands curling into fists. “So you won’t listen to me either?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I don’t see you as territory. I think if anyone’s assuming anything it’s you. You’re a passionate person, I want the chance to be with you. I think you’re making a real childish mistake- running to what you know over trying something new. Especially when what you know has hurt you. Italy, give me a chance.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy felt rage consume him, and before he could process it, he retaliated against the slap in the face of being called Italy by someone trying to use him. He punched Portugal across the cheek, as hard as he could, and then twice more for good measure. Childish mistake… Italy… He was more than manipulative, he was cruel.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Portugal was in a daze from the surprise of being punched, but Bambino, seeing her favorite human going on the offense, hissed and started running between Italy’s legs to bite Portugal’s. Luckily, Italy caught her, picking her up. He couldn’t trust that Portugal wouldn’t hurt her, in confusion or not.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Don’t come back here, Portugal. I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t want to see you. I’ll deal with you at world meetings, but I’m done. You’re not worth the friendship even. Sort yourself out before you push Spain away too. But be warned, I am telling him about this.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Portugal looked at him, shocked, hurt, and confused. This had never happened before. “So what, you’re choosing Spain over me? He can hurt you all you want, but I can’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Italy slammed the door in his face, locking it. He texted him. ‘Get out of my country now, or you’ll regret it’</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Portugal looked at the text. Knowing he wasn’t going to get anywhere good if he disobeyed, he made his way to Italy, seething as he blamed Romano for his incompatibility with Portugal’s scheming. He wanted to be like that? Fine. See how far he gets with Spain. His brother was an idiot, he'd fuck up again eventually and maybe that time it'd be really serious. Maybe then poor, poor Romano would come running back to him, eh? Then he'd lead him on and shamelessly crush him. That's what Portugal'll do. He'd hurt him without even throwing a punch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He'd make him cry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He'd…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Portugal sighed. He was a long way down the street, so he risked taking a look back at the Italy brothers' home. The door was closed up tight, but Portugal didn't have a single doubt that if Spain suddenly materialized in front of it, he'd have been welcomed inside with open arms. He felt like he was going to puke. Those two had something together that made Portugal's guts twist for a reason he couldn't quite place. What was it? What was that </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stood staring in silence as he pondered over it. The thing that separated Portugal from Spain when it came to Romano.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>           After some time, it hit him. Well, it didn't so much hit him as gently wash over him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were in love. Well, maybe not quite- unless that stupid love at first sight thing was real, which Portugal doubted -but they were on their way. Spain had always favored Romano above all else and it seemed to be true the fiery Italian had a soft spot for Spain. His brother was stupid, and he would inevitably screw up again, but he'd bend over backward to make it up to Romano- and Portugal could only imagine that Romano would inevitably let him back in. His brother was nowhere near perfect, but he made up for it in sheer devotion and persistence. He wouldn't give up when things weren't going his way. Portugal was the same, but the things he wouldn't give up on were a little more destructive.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>           Huh.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Portugal blinked, looking up at the sky. He felt droplets hit his face. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It's been raining quite a bit. Maybe it meant something.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He wiped the water from himself and began to move again. He ought to be on his way. He needed to cool off, this mood he'd been in has been cramping his style. He needed someone's company. Maybe like Macau said, it wasn't too late.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>It started to pour down on the streets of Rome, but the warm beams of Italian summer still managed to shine through.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Southern Italy lounged on his sofa, Bambino curled up purring in his lap. As she snoozed away peacefully, Italy looked over his bruised knuckles. He'd never hit someone in the face like that before. It felt good to punch Portugal like that. He would've let out a little chuckle if it wouldn't have woken Bambino.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>            Italy reached over and turned on his phone, 'Are you busy?' He messaged Spain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             'Always have time for you :) what do you need?' Spain responded in record time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             That idiot never failed to make him smile. 'Would you mind coming over sometime? I want to tell you about some stuff I did.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             'Would right now be a good time Italito?'</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             'If it was, would you keep me waiting?'</span>
</p><p>
  <span>             'Not even a second' </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the pitter-pattering droplets that littered the sky, sunbeams still managed to peek through the window. Italy sighed and relaxed back into the sofa. This was it. This was the start of something new. Between him and Spain. Italy would finally get something his way for once. Finally, get what he wanted. They'd have a long ways to go from here, and Italy didn't even try to hope for a smooth ride- the universe had a way of making things difficult for him- but… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>           He was happy. He looked over his texts with Spain and he was smiling. He thought about their upcoming date and it filled him with butterflies. Sure, maybe the happiness he felt right now was temporary. Maybe the next day he'd throw himself into a crappy mood over some things, but Spain would be there. Spain would do anything to bring him out of that mood- he'd say something stupid, or do something silly, or make something ridiculous happen- just to get Italy to crack a little smile, even at his expense. Spain was the sunrise that dragged him out of bed, the daylight that kept him awake throughout hours of paperwork, and the sunset that told him it was time to go home and worry about himself for once. </span>
</p><p><em><span> Minchia,</span></em><span> he felt like a sap thinking this way, but leave it to stupid Spain bring it out of him. Oblivious, empty-headed Spain. Idiotic Spain who made his chest fill with warmth. </span><em><span>Foolish</span></em> <em><span>Spain who Italy could find himself falling in love with.</span></em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Italy very slowly moved from the sofa, very careful in moving Bambino so as not to awaken her. Usually, he'd doze off with his kitten, but this time he had something he wanted to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>       If Spain was coming over, he ought to at least brew some coffee. Maybe set out some biscottis too. That bastard had better appreciate the effort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Southern Italy was smiling as he stepped into the kitchen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spain, on the other hand, was smiling as he made his way to Italy. </span>
  <em>
    <span>His darling Italito was waiting for him!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>As he arrived, he looked up, appreciating the warm sunlight that shone down on the country. He figured it had rained earlier because up in the sky was the faintest hint of a rainbow.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Maybe that was a sign of good luck for their relationship.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Spain chuckled softly over it before breaking into a sprint to Italy's house, weaving his way through the crowds with all the busy energy of a honeybee. He was practically prancing down the street by the time the Italy Brothers' house was in view. If Spain was attentive- which he very rarely was- he would've noticed Italito laughing at him from behind the window curtains. Since his mind was elsewhere though, Italy freely had a good snickering over him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever little bit of joy laughing at Spain gave Italy, it was but breadcrumbs in comparison to letting Spain in and watching him practically vibrate with excitement to see him. Italy had never been a dog person, but in that moment he understood what people meant by the joy of seeing your dog greet you after a long day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>        "Italito!" Spain greeted eagerly, eyes lit up brighter than summer sunlight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>        "You kept me waiting more than a second, you know." Italy crossed his arms, but a small smile played across his lips, "I was able to brew coffee in the amount of time I had to wait. Ándale next time, bastardo."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>         "There was traffic…" Spain said sheepishly before going to give him- well, it looked like he was about to hug him but he had stopped himself halfway through and settled for giving his arms a little squeeze. Italy nearly laughed at him again. That idiot could barely contain himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>         "... Just hug me, idiota."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>         "Can I really?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>         "Don't make me repeat myself."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Italy had experienced many high-temperature summers in his life. None of them warmed him up like Spain did in that moment where he wrapped his strong arms around Italy and pulled him close to his equally strong chest. The gesture made the Italian blush for a multitude of reasons. Spain was oblivious to the effects he had on Italy as always. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Idiota</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          "As much fun it is having you slowly crush me to death, España," Italy said, a lot less prickly than he intended, "Coffee isn't as good when it goes cold."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>           "Ah, right!" Spain lingered for a moment more before pulling away. "Is it espresso?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>           "Duh. The best way to enjoy it." Italy had a proud little grin. It made Spain's heart soar. "Go sit down. I'll get the coffee."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so Spain did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The pair sat together, ending up holding hands across the table halfway through. Italy told Spain what he had done and Spain laughed but had a guilty little look on his face after. He probably shouldn't laugh at his little brother getting punched, even if he had it coming. That was something for him to worry about another time, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Right now, Spain was happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>      Right across from him, Italy was happy too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They talked, and talked, letting time pass them by with no worries. What did they have to worry about? At least, when they were together like this. They were both happy. For once, Southern Italy had his way, and Spain could finally let out all the feelings he'd had building up over the many, many years.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spain took a sip of the espresso that had been sitting in front of him long enough to turn cold. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was seated across from Italy Romano, soaking in the warm beams of Italian summer flooding in from the window. The southern half of Italy had been nice and made him a coffee, even offering him some biscottis to eat with it, though Spain was too preoccupied with the man seated across from him to fully appreciate the gesture. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>    He had screwed up trying to avoid screwing up, but he owed that little miscalculation of his a lot. It gave him the shove he needed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>    He sighed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sun was shining. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Daytime never felt better.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This marks the end of Romano and Spain's journey, but Portugal's is just beginning! Thanks for all of the support, and if you continue reading we hope you enjoy it! (The next story is out now! Just check it out by going to FoggedFantasy's page or going to the series!)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>In a bar somewhere along the Mediterranean, there was a drink bill that was growing by the minute, and two individuals responsible for it. Well, one responsible for adding more onto it and one responsible for covering it, his treat. Portugal let out a drunken chuckle, flirtily calling over the bartender for another drink. Macau sat next to him, quietly running the numbers in his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Portugal had been in a bit of a mood for the past few days. He didn't like to lose, and especially not to his brother, but that's exactly what had happened to him. He lost a potential fling to Spain. It damaged his pride quite a bit, so Macau had tried to remedy that by taking him for a night out. He had expected Portugal to get a little tipsy, find someone he thought pretty, and ditch Macau halfway through the night for them. He did not anticipate Portugal threatening to drain his wallet dry with all his ordering. Perhaps it was revenge for all the times he'd convince Portugal to gamble in games they both knew he sucked at. Macau sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>        He turned to his companion and placed a gentle hand on his back. "Perhaps you should call it a night before you drink yourself to sunrise."</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“It doesn’t even matter, Macau, it’s not like I can do permanent damage to myself anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Macau frowned at the response, worried about it. “Just because you can’t die permanently doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take care of yourself.” He scolded, placing a gentle hand on Portugal’s shoulder. “I know you’re in pain, but please slow down.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I’m fine, Macau,” Portugal huffed, prickling up since Macau dared to suggest that Portugal was hurting… in public. In all honesty, had he minded his location just a little bit better, Portugal would have probably given in and admitted it. He didn’t want to acknowledge his pain in the middle of a crowded bar, though, and he didn’t think he was alone in that.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Macau sighed. It didn’t really seem like he was fine. “Tell you what, come play a round of pool with me first before you start in on another drink, okay? It’ll be something to do.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>It might get your mind off of it… even if just for a moment.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Mm… fine,” Portugal gave in, getting up and squinting for a free pool table. Once he found one, he grabbed Macau by the elbow gently, escorting him to it. Macau let himself be pulled along, and they arrived. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pair sorted out the rules of their game together before Portugal started off. Macau went easy on him, but didn't tell him- goodness knows what Portugal would have done had his pride been injured any more than it already was. That said, there was only so much bragging a man could take from a drunken Luso before he grew tired. By the third game, Macau wanted an out. Just for a little bit. He didn't trust the idea of his intoxicated companion left on his own though, so he searched around desperately for someone to keep him company. Perhaps it was a silly idea, but Macau had had a few drinks himself. He wasn't going to leave Portugal for too long anyway. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just five minutes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he told himself</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Another win for me, Macau!" Portugal laughed, "We should start having the loser buy a shot for each ball the winner sinks!"</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay, fifteen,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Macau corrected. His eyes scanned the crowds again for anyone who was still managing to stand upright and didn't clearly look like a potential assailant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, his eyes landed on an odd fellow past the crowd, having a chat with the older men at the bar and laughing along with them like a jackal. Oh yes, he would certainly do. Macau gave Portugal's back a light smack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          "I'm going to use the restroom. I'll be right back." He told him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          "Boo, você é puta," Portugal gave him a thumbs down, "Okay, don't keep me waiting too long."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>          Macau nodded before leaving the table. He approached the man- no, the country, who had caught his eye before. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Good evening,” he greeted formally, bowing his head slightly with respect.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The country smiled, a bit bemused. “Don’t wor-ry a-bout be-ing so for-mal, Macau.” He said, shaking his head. Sure, sometimes formalities were nice, but he preferred a more relaxed attitude, especially when they weren’t at work.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Right. Could you watch Portugal for me? I’m afraid I hadn’t bargained on spending so much time with him- I expected he’d find someone pretty by now. Frankly, I need a break.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“How long will you be?” The other asked, not wanting to commit to an entire night of Portugal quite yet.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“About 15 minutes, if that’s alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, no prob-lem, then,” the country slapped Macau on the back in a friendly manner. “I’ll watch him. Go take your break.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Thank you. I’ll buy you a drink later, how about that?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“No need, you go take care,” The man shook his head again, chuckling. Macau always thought in transactions in his experience. It was strange- not unwelcome in a stranger, he had to admit, but for some reason, he didn’t want a reward for this task. Besides, transactional relationships were formal, and he didn’t want to be formal right now. Or at least, that was what he was telling himself.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The country approached Portugal. “Play-ing the pool, huh?” He smiled, his tone conversational yet smooth.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Portugal jumped, looking over. He’d know that voice anywhere. “Turkey?” He looked up, shocked to find the country in question without his signature mask. He squinted at his face, confused.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Port-u-gal,” Turkey nodded, a smile on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You aren’t wearing your mask.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I want-ed a cas-u-al eve-ning,” Turkey shrugged.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I barely recognized you,” Portugal said softly, meeting his eyes. The mask was nice- it gave every day a fun masquerade-y feel, but Portugal had to admit that without it he was quite handsome. It was a more genuine, warmer handsomeness. Although he’d have to get really drunk to consider taking Turkey home, the man did not seem submissive in the slightest, and Portugal liked being top dog.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Turkey laughed at the comment. “Well, the bot-tom half still looks the same.” He shook his head, amused.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yeah, whatever, it looks different. The mask is like your signature.” Portugal chuckled. “Want to play a game of pool?” He asked Turkey, tilting his head.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>That was the beginning of how Portugal found himself waking up in Turkey’s bed, a horrific hangover blasting his head with pain, naked, and under Turkey’s arm. He checked the time, and since it was 6 a.m., later than he’d like to wake up in this situation, he attempted to weasel his way out.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>As soon as Portugal shifted, attempting to squeeze out under Turkey’s arm, Turkey wrapped his arms around him tighter. Portugal gulped. He would much rather do his walk of shame before getting caught and spending an awkward breakfast. Unfortunately for him, Turkey wanted the opposite.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Portugal tried one more time but got pulled in further, brown eyes blearily opening to meet anxious green ones.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What are you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
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